We'll Walk In Ecstasy
by ED of Oblivion
Summary: An alien anomaly changes Jim in a way no one could have predicted.  His relationship with Spock is ultimately put to the test.  Vulcan!Kirk.  Kirk/Spock.  Plot reverse of "The Chase."


**Title:** We'll Walk In Ecstasy

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** NC-17 (M)

**Pairing:** Kirk/Spock

**Word count:** 25,049

**Summary:** An alien anomaly changes Jim in a way no one could have predicted. His relationship with Spock is ultimately put to the test. Vulcan!Kirk. Kirk/Spock. Plot reverse of "The Chase."

**Warnings:** Swearing, some OOC-ness, **graphic/explicit sex**.

**Notes:** While I was originally writing "The Chase," someone on LJ commented on it and mentioned offhandedly that she would have loved to read a story of the same kind of plot, but with the roles reversed – with Kirk chasing Spock. I talked back and forth with her more about this idea, and the more she gave shape to her idea the more I found I wanted to actually write it. And so, after quite a few months, I finally have.

This one's definitely more serious than "The Chase," though. There may be some humorous moments from time to time, but overall this is a more dramatic story. Also, I this thing kept getting away from me constantly: at times it felt like it was dragging, while other points seemed too rushed. (Not to mention this is the longest single fic I've ever written thus far in my writing history.) Overall, however, I feel I've done all I can with this and have decided that I am happy with what I've completed. So despite my personal misgivings, please enjoy. :D

Thank you!

* * *

_**We'll Walk In Ecstasy**_

"_Have enough courage to trust love one more time. And always one more time."_ –Maya Angelou (b. 1928)

* * *

His shift had barely started before Jim burst into his sickbay, and that's the moment that Leonard McCoy decided that, fuck it, he was _not_ a morning person.

He had to look twice, because he was sure as hell that Jim didn't really have a pair of pointy ears sticking out from the sides of his head or that his normally thick, curving eyebrows weren't actually slanted upwards onto his forehead. Except that he did, and they were, and dammit, McCoy was seriously going to entertain the thought of transferring because of it all. Jim looked significantly freaked out, and McCoy had him up on a biobed and a scanner running over his body before the kid could even say anything.

McCoy took three separate readings because he was sure his findings were wrong. They had to be. Just to be sure he used a different scanner, but it did no good – the readings were the same.

He sighed heavily through his nose. It was _way_ too early for this kind of shit.

Jim's eyes were burning holes in his, waiting for some kind of answer. McCoy could only shrug. "Well, you're not dying."

The captain exhaled and rolled his eyes dramatically, a rather odd-looking gesture given the new physical features he now possessed. "That's not helpful, Bones!" Jim whined, trying to keep calm but failing rather miserably. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"I dunno, Jim, you tell me," McCoy answered. "Yesterday you were a perfectly fine and healthy human starship captain, wrapping up negotiations with the native government down on Dramiir, and now this morning you come running into my sickbay looking the way you do, and all of my equipment is telling me that as far as I should be concerned, you're nothing but a perfectly fine and healthy _Vulcan_." He took just a little pride in the way that Jim suddenly hunched like a child caught pilfering candy. "There anything you want to tell me?"

"I don't _know_, Bones," Jim shot back, his shockingly blue eyes blazing slightly. His new Vulcan features made him look a little more fierce than usual, and McCoy realized that whatever it was that had happened, Jim was obviously more affected by it than could visibly be seen. Jim averted his eyes towards the floor and took a couple deep breaths, as if trying to calm down. He eventually looked up at McCoy again. "I don't. I really don't. You know I'd tell you if I did, but I really… I don't…"

McCoy sighed, realizing that there's no way this _couldn't_ be overwhelming for Jim. He himself was probably just making it worse. "Okay, Jim, calm down," he said, stepping closer and placing his hands on his friend's shoulders, one of his thumbs just brushing the skin of Jim's neck. Jim suddenly gasped, jerking lightly away from the doctor's touch. McCoy stepped back, unsure of just what had brought the instance on.

Jim looked stunned for a moment before his expression shifted to one of awe. When he looked back up to McCoy, he looked faintly embarrassed. "Guess it's not just physical appearance, huh?"

It took a few seconds for Jim's words to sink in. McCoy's eyes widened. "You mean… you could feel," he gestures vaguely around his temples, "you know."

"Yeah, for an instant." Jim slowly smiled, a hint of his usual cockiness showing through. "It's nice to know you care so much, Doctor."

McCoy rolled his eyes before grabbing a chair from by the wall and dragging it over, planting himself down in front of Jim.

"We're gonna figure this out, alright?" he said with soft firmness, watching as Jim sobered back down. "Now think, Jim. You were down on Dramiir almost all day yesterday for the final treaty signings and all the rest of the celebrations. Do you remember anything that happened that may have caused this? Anything strange or out of place or significant? Anything at all?"

Jim was slowly shaking his head. "No, Bones, everything was really routine. We all stayed together during the signing and the feast, and nothing occurred that we hadn't already been briefed on before we beamed down for the first time. Well, of course, except for…" Jim suddenly cut off, his slanted brows furrowing in slow realization.

He had McCoy's attention. "Except for what, Jim?"

When the captain looked at him, McCoy just _knew_ that this was something he'd probably be yelling at Jim for later.

"Er…" was the start of Jim's admission. "There was _one_ thing that happened…"

McCoy sat back and listened.

* * *

"_Your mind is occupied."_

_Jim looked up from the glass in his hand. The empress smiled patiently._

_He supposed it was the environment that had initially allowed his mind to wander. The _Enterprise_'s mission to the planet of Dramiir had been literally flawless, and the sheer pleasant nature of both the planet and its people was reason enough for the crew to relax. In the ensuing celebrations following the successful peace talks and treaty signings, the landing party was sticking relatively close together, as ordered, but even now each member had found themselves caught up in their own individual conversations throughout the feasting hall. And while they stuck to remaining within eyesight of each other, the entire present crew (Spock included, it seemed) was at peace and no longer possessed the initial sense of apprehension that was present during their very first visit those few days ago. The Dramiiri were a truly peaceful people, as it turned out – it was a wonder why the Federation had not contacted them before._

_Coming back to the present, Jim responded sheepishly. "Is it that obvious?"_

_The empress' crystal eyes glittered with mirth. "We are not a telepathic race, Captain Kirk, but your emotions are clear upon your face."_

"_I'm sorry," Jim said, turning slightly to lean more against the stone rail of the balcony they were standing on. "Please, don't mind it; it's nothing to concern yourself with."_

_The Dramiiri didn't look convinced, although her expression had not lost any of its serenity. "We have spent many days engaging in both negotiations and simple talks, and are now bonded by a very generous treaty between your Federation and my planet. I have learned much from you and your people, Captain Kirk, just as you have from me and mine. I would say we have become friends. Do you agree?"_

_Jim smiled. "I suppose that's true."_

_The empress stepped closer, placing a silvery hand close to Jim's on the railing. "If you wish it, I would hear your troubles."_

_The captain averted his eyes briefly, glancing nonchalantly over the space of the feasting hall. Over the shoulder of a Dramiiri diplomat he could see Spock engaged in conversation. As if prompted, the half-Vulcan's gaze lifted slightly to meet Jim's, softening briefly in recognition before returning to the person he was speaking to. The instance was short, no longer than mere seconds._

"_It's… a personal matter."_

"_Does it concern your Vulcan mate?"_

_When Jim's eyes shot up to meet hers, a slightly stumped expression on his face, the empress smiled almost shyly. "We Dramiiri are a learned raced, Captain, and Vulcans are not unknown to us. Your commander seems close to you in a manner his kind is not known for displaying. I had naturally assumed…" At Jim's continued speechlessness, her smile dimmed a little and she suddenly appeared unsure of herself. "Am I mistaken?"_

_Jim gave his brain a mental shake and finally answered. "No, no, you're right," he said as casually as he could muster, wondering exactly how the conversation had shifted from politics and simple weather to the relationship between him and Spock. "We've been bonded for months now. But we also, ah… haven't really consummated it yet. In either fashion." The empress giggled, a delicate, lighthearted titter. Jim realized that he probably didn't need to reveal that much depth about his and Spock's relationship, but there was something about the Dramiiri ruler that kept him at ease. She seemed genuinely interested, and while he'd interacted with her primarily on a formal basis up until now, he was seriously beginning to see the person behind the figurehead. The empress was surely powerful, but she was still a mind and body with feelings and a personality – a person Jim had gotten to know, like, and trust._

_Her gently curious gaze prompted him to continue. "The bond I have with Spock is on a purely emotional level right now. We can't read each others' thoughts independently – not without melding – but we can feel each others' emotions, even at a distance." Jim smiled fondly at the thought, even now experiencing the light push of Spock's general calmness at the edge of his mind. "So while we can tell what the other's feeling, we can't tell what he's thinking about. Does that make any sense?"_

_The empress only smiled brighter._

"_Anyway, that's… actually what I'm brooding about right now," Jim continued, ducking his head with a growing sense of shyness. "Lately I've been thinking more and more about the bond, and… I've been realizing that although I understand what Spock feels – _that_ he feels – I really don't know anything about what he thinks. About us, I mean – the bond. And it's silly because… I _know_ he loves me. I've _felt_ it. But I guess I'm just… curious, I suppose. We're going slow, and I respect that, but… it'd be nice to know what our relationship is like for him, what the bond is like from his view." He really couldn't help the way he felt. He and Spock were currently closer to each other than Jim had ever thought possible, and with each touch of Spock's mind and body Jim found himself more and more curious as to what went on in the half-Vulcan's head when they were apart. Jim had learned all about Vulcans and their deeply-running emotions early on, and while their relationship was still in the early stages he already knew he wanted to feel _more_ of Spock._

_Maybe he was in over his head when it came to all the details. But when it came down to it, he still _had_ Spock, and even if he didn't ever get to fully understand what really went on beneath the veils of the other's mind, Jim was sure he didn't need to worry in the end. He decided to write it off as a passing fancy._

_A very frequently reoccurring passing fancy._

_Jim abruptly pulled himself out of his thoughts, remembering just where he was. He cleared his throat politely._

"_My apologies, Empress," he said, flushing lightly. "That was probably more information than you'd care to–"_

"_Vulcan love," the empress murmured unexpectedly. "You wish to experience Vulcan love. No doubt at its purest point…" She almost seemed to be talking to herself rather than Jim._

_The captain cocked an eyebrow and shrugged minutely. "I suppose that's one way to put it." He turned and regarded the scenery beyond the balcony. "In any case, my apology still stands, Empress. That probably wasn't the best topic to delve into, given today's events." Jim's smile returned when the Dramiiri seemed to refocus and turns her glittering eyes back to him._

"_It's quite alright, Captain," she assured. "As I recall, I had initially prompted you to speak. I am honored you chose to share your thoughts with me."_

_Jim nodded. "Of course."_

_The brief silence that followed lacked a sense of awkwardness._

"_James," the empress said, perking slightly. Jim absently noted the use of his first name rather than his rank. "Would you follow me? There is something I would show you."_

_Jim took a fleeting glance at the nearby feasting hall, hesitating. The empress grasps his wrist gently. "Please? It is not far." The air of nobility left her for a moment, her soft pleading not unlike that of a child or a younger sibling. Jim found himself unable and unwilling to resist._

_With one last check to Spock's mental presence, the captain nodded. "Alright, lead the way."_

_

* * *

_

"Wait a minute. You went _alone?_"

Jim flinched only slightly at McCoy's tone. "What? It really wasn't very far from the palace. I could still hear the party from the feasting hall and everything."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "And what about _staying together_ and _following routine_ and whatnot? Honestly, I don't understand how you can still be alive. Can you believe this guy?" He turned to Uhura, who had previously wandered in during the first part of Jim's recollection. She was still openly staring at Jim, only vaguely acknowledging McCoy's words, her original purpose for visiting sickbay obviously forgotten. Jim didn't blame her for gaping – hell, he would have too if he were her. But he was really not in the mood for it.

He cleared his throat and kept going.

* * *

_True to the empress' word, their journey wasn't long. A minute's walk from the base of the palace, they soon reached a small forested area, an alcove lined with swooping purple trees and softly glowing flora. As they neared the apparent entrance, the empress reached back and took hold of Jim's wrist. The captain was about to speak up in question when he felt a light, tingling pressure around his body as he passed the threshold. He'd been to enough planets to know what it was._

"_A force field?"_

"_A barrier," the empress confirmed, removing her hand from Jim. "Only those of royal blood may pass through to this site," she turned to look at him, "and only persons who those of royal blood permit."_

_The clearing in front of the pair was scarce save a small monument in the middle with an elegant silver bowl perched on top of it. Near the edge of the area lay a deep pool of water, a clear stream flowing into it from a rocky brook._

"_In ancient times, this site was used as a place of peace," the empress began, crossing the space of the clearing to stand by the monument. "Treaties and friendships were formed here between ourselves and the many we have had the privilege of meeting, both on and off this planet. After all had been done, it was proper custom for our visitors to partake of this spring." She picked the bowl up off of the monument, gracefully crossing over to the pool of water. "You and your crew are the first visitors Dramiir has had in many generations." The bowl was dipped into the pool, scooping up a generous portion of water. The empress straightened, turning and stopping in front of Jim and holding out the bowl. "I would be honored if you would allow me to renew this custom."_

_Jim paused in thought. The pre-mission briefing had mentioned nothing about a ceremonial drinking of water from a spring of any kind. Then again, the empress had just stated the practice was ancient, which, if true, explained why it would not have been mentioned in the briefing presentation. The empress' request seemed genuine and he didn't see any harm in it, but he cautioned himself anyway._

"_I appreciate your offer, Empress," Jim said, a smile on his lips, "and I mean no disrespect, but I was not briefed on this… ritual of yours beforehand."_

_The empress' smile seemed sad. "You are understandably cautious. But you must know, this is not a trick. You may check our royal library if you wish – there are many documents that verify this practice; you would be more than welcome to view them if you so desired. …I would not lie to you, James Kirk."_

_Jim averted his eyes, pondering over the empress' words. Being a starship captain, it was only natural for him to be guarded against any potential threats or suspicions. That being said, the empress had only ever offered him kindness, friendship, and understanding ever since their first meeting – and apparently continued to do so. She'd presented to him an explanation, a way to put proof behind her request – Jim couldn't find any fault in it._

_The Dramiiri ruler remained genuine and straightforwardly honest._

_Jim trusted her._

"_I would be honored to take part in your custom," he finally said, a warm smile working its way onto his face. The empress' face broke out into a cheerful grin, an expression completely divergent from her usual formal presentation._

"_Thank you, Captain," she responded, stepping closer to Jim. "You have honored me with your choice… and your trust." Without another word the empress lifted the bowl in a toasting gesture and brought it to her lips, drinking a small portion of the water inside. When she was finished she extended the bowl to Jim, who took it and lifted it in a similar gesture before taking a drink from the opposite side._

_Nothing happened._

_As the empress took the bowl back to its resting place, Jim pondered over the possible meanings of the ritual he'd just participated in. He felt no changes in his body, so he figured it must be an act of symbolism. Two different parties joining together through the act of consuming from a shared source, perhaps?_

"_It is done." The Dramiiri was in front of Jim again. She bowed. "I thank thee for thy bond in trust." Jim found he could only bow in return._

"_Empress, if you would allow me, I believe I'll return to the feasting hall." Almost on impulse, he offered her his arm. She took it, smiling._

"_Of course, Captain." And although they left the area and walked back together, her final words before they reached the palace almost sounded like a parting statement:_

"_May your ultimate path lead you to the greatest happiness."_

_

* * *

_

"So let me get this straight." McCoy looked livid. "You went off by yourself without any kind of supervision whatsoever, willingly ingested a substance whose origins you _knew nothing about_, and didn't even _think_ to mention this to anyone, let alone me, the minute you got back to the ship?"

"…Yes?"

The doctor shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. Across the room, Uhura seemed to be expressing a similar sentiment. McCoy had to take a minute to compose himself before speaking again. "Well, you're lucky it didn't kill you and instead just turned you into…" he gestured searchingly, "_this_."

Jim could only agree.

"So… What do we do now?"

"Medically? I can't do a damn thing." McCoy took his previously discarded PADD up off a nearby counter and scowled at it. "As far as my biological readings go, you're one hundred percent Vulcan. The only human thing left about you is your personality. There's nothing on you, chemical or otherwise, that can tell me what it is that did this to you, so presently there isn't anything I can do for you."

Jim nodded, taking the information in slowly and carefully. "We'll have to send an away team to investigate that water source." Human body or Vulcan, he was still the captain. He turned his eyes to the communications officer near the edge of the room. "Uhura, will you take care of that?"

She straightened slightly. "Yes, sir."

Jim nodded. "Good. Try to speak with the empress if you can. You shouldn't have too much trouble getting an audience with her now that the treaties have been signed. Take science officers Halliday and Jodi with you; their environmental and geological knowledge will help you best when investigating that water source." He paused briefly in thought, contemplating his next decision. Jim offered a slight smile to Uhura. "And take along some security officers, just in case."

Uhura smiled lightly in return. "Aye, sir." She left without another word.

As if on cue, the comm unit whistled.

"_Bridge to sickbay._"

Jim's head lifted at the sound of Spock's voice. McCoy raised an eyebrow at the almost apprehensive look on the captain's face before crossing the distances and tapping the button to accept the call.

"Sickbay. McCoy here."

"_Doctor McCoy, do you know the whereabouts of the captain? He is not located in his quarters and has not reported to the bridge._"

McCoy cast a glance at Jim. "He's down here in sickbay, Spock."

"_Is he injured?_"

"No, no, he's fine. It's… nothing we can do anything about at this point, so there's nothing to really concern yourself with, but…" He leaned his forehead against the wall and willed himself to not sigh. "I suppose when you have the time, you might want to come down and take a look for yourself."

"_Understood. I will be down shortly. Spock out._"

McCoy stepped away from the wall and moseyed back over to where Jim is sitting. Jim didn't say anything, instead keeping still and looking like he's contemplating something serious. The doctor waited a short moment longer before lightly clearing his throat.

"…I take it Spock doesn't know?"

"We stayed in our separate quarters last night," Jim answered, eyes still focused on a random section of the wall. "After we beamed back up from Dramiir I went straight to bed; Spock wanted to work late."

"So… What do you think?"

"I don't know how he's going to react."

McCoy took a seat next to Jim on the biobed, unable to hold back a small snort. "My guess would be 'logically.'"

"It's not funny, Bones," Jim started to retort, but already he found he'd starting to laugh along with McCoy. It was an odd sight, the one of a distinctly Vulcan face caught in the expression of growing mirth, but it only served to make McCoy laugh harder.

"Sorry, Jim, but look at you! One of the most emotional bastards on the ship, and you get turned into a goddamn _Vulcan_."

And it _was_ kind of funny. It was practically _ridiculous_. Granted, this was the first time anything like this has ever happened before, and Bones was right – it wasn't like he was dying. The idea of being able to shrug the situation off with humor was a welcome one; hell, Jim figureed that he and the rest of the crew could probably have a nice laugh about the whole thing once he got turned back into a human.

_If_ he got turned back.

It hit him that there really wasn't any guarantee that his body would be returned to its human form. His crew may have been the best and brightest of Starfleet, but even they couldn't pull miracle cures out of the air. If Uhura and the away team were unsuccessful at getting an answer from the Dramiiri empress, Jim would have to resign himself to being a Vulcan for the rest of his life.

It wasn't the worst thing that could possibly happen to him, but he wasn't exactly jumping for joy at the prospect of it.

McCoy sobered next to him, taking in the sense of somberness in his friend. He settled a hand on Jim's shoulder, careful not to touch any skin.

"Hey," he offered, leaning over slightly in an attempt to make eye contact. "We'll get through this, alright? For better or for worse," he gently shook the captain's shoulder, "we'll get through this."

Jim looked up, his blue eyes just a tad brighter. "Thanks, Bones."

The gentle pressure near the edge of his mind suddenly increased. Spock was near.

Jim glanced to the door just as it opened. McCoy stood. Spock walked in, slowing significantly at the sight before him. His brown eyes widened ever so marginally, tracing over Jim's obvious new features with a practiced sense of detailed observation. Otherwise, the half-Vulcan's face revealed no visual reaction.

After a short, seemingly tense moment, the human-turned-Vulcan breathed a short laugh that no doubt doubled as a nervous sigh, helplessly gesturing to himself and shrugging. "…Yeah."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

* * *

When Uhura returned, Jim was filled with a small sense of relief. Her expression wasn't grim, so he knew that whatever news she had, it wasn't completely negative. However, her lips were slightly pursed and her sharp eyes were darting around in what Jim interpreted as confusion and hesitation. Obviously Uhura had some kind of answer, but there was apparently a hitch or two for her to look the way she did.

Jim called her into a conference room, along with Spock and McCoy, in order to start getting to the bottom of it all.

"Okay, Lieutenant," Jim started once they were all seated. "Report. What have you got?" For a moment Uhura sat and bit her lip, obviously doing a mental search on just where to start. She sighed a breath, crossed her hands over the table and began.

"Alright then. First off: that water source you drank from? The Dramiiri call it _jaavu sor fiisc'a_ – the closest meaning in Standard I could find translates to 'spring of desire.' Basically, whoever drinks from it is granted their strongest desire. And yes, I _know_ it sounds farfetched and impossible," Uhura added when Spock looked like he was about to speak up, "but it's the truth. In ancient times the spring was used by elders in order to fulfill the needs of the people or the planet; for instance, desiring rain during a drought. The Dramiiri royal library houses hundreds of texts that document this practice over multiple generations. The planet was apparently partial to all kinds of natural phenomenon in the past, but over time Dramiir's geological makeup had stabilized dramatically. As such, the Dramiiri no longer need to make use of the spring as often.

"Secondly, Captain," Uhura stared at Jim levelly, "technically, the empress wasn't lying to you. According to the ancient texts it _is_ proper custom for the leader of a visiting party to drink from the spring before departing. However, the act itself hasn't been _officially_ practiced for years – that's the main reason it wasn't listed in the original mission briefing, aside from the fact that we're the first visitors Dramiir has had in over two hundred years.

"From what I've been able to figure out, the empress knew perfectly well what she was doing when she asked Jim to drink the spring water. She didn't do it out of a sense of duty – more like out of a sense of personal want. She viewed her actions as a gift to the captain, even if he didn't realize it as such at the time. The empress seemed really genuine when she was telling me this; it's clear that the last thing she wants right now is for us to think that she meant the captain harm." Uhura stopped, seemingly unsure as how to continue.

McCoy helped her out. "So the spring grants the drinker his strongest desire. Does that mean Jim desired to become a Vulcan?"

Before the man in question could say anything, Uhura supplied an answer. "The empress said that unless the person's will is distinctly specific, the result of the spring's power will vary. A person could simply desire happiness or comfort – the possible outcomes of what would follow would be numerous. Plus, as far as a person's greatest desire goes, many individuals don't even realize what it is they truly want until it's presented to them in some form or another. Whatever it is that the captain desires, becoming a Vulcan is apparently the closest means to fulfilling it, at least according to the, ah… the spring."

The lieutenant looked at Jim, interest evident on her face. She obviously was curious about the nature of Jim's "strongest desire," and she wasn't the only one. Spock and McCoy were both looking at him with their own individual levels of inquiry, and Jim could only look at the surface of the table. It was only then that he realized that in his earlier recollection of events to McCoy, he'd never actually mentioned that the conversation topic he shared with the empress was his relationship with Spock – only that he had spoken leisurely with her. Another thought then slammed him: the empress had certainly seemed interested in his relationship with Spock, and it was only after their talk that she had invited him to the alcove to take part in the ritual…

Jim felt like an idiot.

_That_ was the initial cause? The empress wanting to help him out with his supposed relationship problems?

Were he anywhere else, he'd have allowed himself to groan and slam his head down on the table.

As if sensing his growing frustration – hell, he probably was – Spock reached over and lightly rested his fingers on Jim's wrist, willing his bondmate to calm himself. Thankful for the reassurance, as slight as it may have been, Jim breathed deeply and willed his irritation back down. Strong emotion in a Vulcan body was probably the last thing he wanted right now.

Satisfied that Jim was composed, Spock turned to Uhura. "Can the condition be reversed?"

"The empress says it's not a matter of reversal," she answered. "The spring's effect is meant to last until the drinker's desire has been completely fulfilled. For example, that wish for drought-ending rain? It would be considered fulfilled once the drought had actually ended. Only then would the rain stop."

McCoy frowned. "What if the person had a more… permanent wish?"

Uhura averted her eyes briefly, running her fingers over her brow before clasping her hands back together on the desk. "I don't know." An unidentifiable silence settled over the room, and for a minute no one could think of anything to say. Finally, Uhura gently cleared her throat.

"Captain," she said. "…Jim, may I speak freely?"

Jim looked up from the desk. "Of course, Uhura."

She smiled weakly. "Jim, I… I think we can trust the empress. I know we don't have any real evidence supporting it, but… I believe her sincerity. The entire time I was speaking with her she looked me straight in the eye and never hesitated to answer my questions. I really don't think the empress meant any harm with her actions. There was nothing in her demeanor or language that suggested lying or hesitancy. …I trust her."

Jim was silent for a moment, looking down at Spock's hand still resting on his wrist, before he sighed and quietly admitted, "So do I."

He waited a minute longer before looking up at McCoy. "Bones," he said, choosing to keep the momentary air of informality a little longer. "Based on all your readings, do you think I'm in any sort of danger?"

Across from him, McCoy straightened. "No, Jim, I don't."

"…Okay then." Jim slipped back into his captainly persona. Spock released his bondmate's wrist as he and the other two got the drift and adopted a more professional air. "We'll trust the empress' judgment on this; for now, if anything. I don't consider this to be an emergency situation or immediate cause for concern, so unless this… 'condition' lasts for a longer period of time, or things start to get drastic for any reason, we won't report this to Starfleet. I do, however, want it recorded in the mission report for later reference. In the meantime, we continue as normal. I am still your captain, and I will perform as such. I'll just… have to get used to these changes on my own time." Pausing momentarily, he turned to his first officer. "Spock, will you help me with that?"

"Of course, Captain." Spock's reply came quickly and without hesitation.

"Very well. I think we're done here." Jim braced his hands on the conference table, adding with more of a mumble, "…No need to make a formal announcement, I guess. Everyone can figure it out on their own." He stood and nodded. "Dismissed."

The other three stood together and began to leave at their own pace. Uhura left first, casting Jim a soft smile before she went. McCoy stopped near the door and rested a hand on Jim's shoulder, squeezing firmly.

"You know where to find me," he offered, his tone bordering between his usual gruffness and soft sympathy. McCoy spared a brief nod to Spock and then left.

Spock himself was standing by the exit, eyes lingering on Jim. He appeared unsure of himself – as unsure as Spock _could_ appear, anyway – as if he wanted to say something but didn't quite know what or how to say it. Jim couldn't help but feel the same.

Nevertheless, he helped Spock out. "So… what do you think?"

"About what, Captain?"

Jim almost rolled his eyes. "You know…" he gestured to himself, "_this_."

The half-Vulcan looked at him a moment longer before taking a step closer to him. "To be very honest, Jim, I… do not believe I know quite what to think. I will admit, however, that I do find the change somewhat… fascinating."

Jim snorted lightly, feeling the humor of the situation start to return. "Of course you would, Spock. Only you." He sighed, reaching up to self-consciously trail a finger over the newly pointed edge of his right ear. Spock watched the action silently.

"Well," Jim said finally, straightening up out of his brooding and guiding Spock out of the conference room, "come on. You've got some educating to do."

* * *

As it turned out, mastering the everyday challenges of being a Vulcan was much less difficult than Jim had initially predicted. Being the bondmate of a half-Vulcan had its distinct advantages, obviously. Nevertheless, it took Jim nearly the full remainder of the first day to master the shielding techniques Spock showed and taught him. Jim learned how to maintain a mental barrier so that he didn't project or absorb any mental thoughts when he came into skin-to-skin contact with his crew. He found it was not so different from the types of shielding he'd obtained when he and Spock had initially bonded, except that now Jim had to work at blocking his own mental projections and the projects of everyone around him, not just Spock.

His new physical attributes were also dealt with: Jim got used to the heavier feel his body has due to his now-denser bone structure and took the time to become acquainted with his newfound sense of strength. Objects over three times the weight of his usual lifting limit Jim found he could now lift with ease, and he only broke three pairs of dumbbells in the gym before he came to grips with just how much of his strength he had to learn to control in order to safely handle the equipment necessary to his job on the _Enterprise_. It was almost scary, the thought of just how strong he'd become in such a short amount of time. Jim was only eternally thankful that he had Spock to help him along the way.

At the same time, Jim had Spock help him undergo a small form of Vulcan discipline to account for emotional control. In his current body he found that although his personality hadn't changed, he felt emotions more intensely and was more sensitive mentally and physically. Spock theorized that along with the Vulcan form, Jim had also acquired all of a Vulcan's natural telepathic abilities and sensitivities. Regardless of shielding, Jim would ultimately experience the surroundings of his ship through every aspect of perspective a Vulcan is capable of. It was strange and awe-inspiring – the sheer amount of mental awareness a Vulcan apparently possessed was _astounding_ to Jim. He pondered on cornering Spock and asking him just how he dealt with it all before reminding himself that Spock had had an entire lifetime of mental training, whereas he himself had really only had a day and then some; Spock probably had it down to the point that he hardly noticed it all. It was definitely different, being able to mentally sense the presence of his crew as he encountered them throughout his ship, but Jim found he wasn't really bothered by it. After all, he was already used to the constant feel of Spock in the back of his mind; he could deal with a few more mental hitchhikers now and then.

Jim's first shift on the bridge since the transformation was… interesting, to say the least. Since he chose not to announce his impromptu change of species via ship-wide intercom – confident that trying to explain such a thing without confusing anyone or sounding completely insane would have been impossible – Jim prepared himself beforehand for the stares and double-takes he inevitably received as he navigated the corridors. There was no disgust that he saw, merely shocked curiosity and wonder. He still received short salutes and greetings, much to his satisfaction; he was glad to see that his crew was still his crew.

He received roughly the same treatment as he stepped onto the bridge and did his best to hide his growing amusement. Jim kept his face straight as he walked past the various officers and felt their eyes follow him relentlessly as they took notice of him from their stations. He heard Uhura muffle a snort of laughter as she realized what Jim was doing and saw Spock raise a questioning eyebrow at him. Jim raised one in return and felt undisguised amusement waft through the bond.

Jim seated himself in his command chair and prompted Chekov for the status of their latest course with a practiced air of Vulcan indifference. The other crewmembers were slowly catching on, save Chekov and Sulu who had yet to turn around. The young navigator automatically ran through the information involving the ship's latest presented path without turning around. When he finally did the remainder of his spiel slowly died and he was left with his mouth hanging slightly. This caused Sulu to also turn around and begin staring himself, looking like he was trying to figure out a particularly challenging puzzle.

Chekov started to laugh. Perhaps it was the atmosphere the crew was projecting or just the image in front of him, but he looked like he really couldn't help himself.

Jim quirked an eyebrow and said in a near-perfect mimicry of Vulcan speech, "Ensign Chekov, I don't believe I understand the source of your amusement. Please explain." This only served to make Chekov laugh harder, and next to him Sulu broke, unable to stop himself before joining in. Around him, the rest of the crew – save Spock – decided it was apparently safe to laugh.

"Sir, is this a joke?" Sulu eventually asked, looking amused and confused at the same time.

Jim cracked a half-grin and let himself chuckle. "Yes and no, Lieutenant," he ended up saying, not quite ready to dive into the back-story while on duty. He turned in his chair to regard the rest of his crew. "Alright everyone, we've all had our laughs. Back to work." As he swung back towards the front monitor he caught the looks Chekov and Sulu were still giving him.

"If you really want to know, wait until your next break," he offered. "Look alive, boys, you're on duty."

After his rather memorable entrance, the rest of his shift proved rather uneventful. His duties continued as normal, and Jim was pleased to find that his crew generally reacted to him as they normally would have, even if they did tend to look at him a little longer than usual. (He also silently commended himself for not breaking a single stylus whenever he was brought a PADD to sign by a yeoman.)

The lack of activity allowed him time to think, however, and Jim found himself thinking more about his predicament. Granted, it had only been a day since it all began, but the longer Jim pondered over it the more worried he found he got. In addition, it wasn't so much the issue that he was now a full-blooded Vulcan than it was the prior reasoning of the Dramiiri empress.

_It's not a matter of reversal. The spring's effect is meant to last until the drinker's desire has been completely fulfilled._

Until his desire was completely fulfilled? What was _that_ meant to entail? When he had said he'd wanted to get closer to Spock's mind and thoughts, _this_ wasn't what he'd had in mind.

Jim's thoughts wandered for the rest of the shift, pondering over what could possibly be "fulfilled" in his current state. He was still thinking when Spock appeared at the side of his chair and notified him that it was time for their meal break. They entered the turbolift together, and the doors weren't shut for nearly a second before Spock reached over and pressed the button for a full stop.

For a moment neither of them spoke, although Jim could tell there was a topic Spock wanted to breach.

"It's cold," Jim eventually blurted, his desire to end the silence prompting him to speak. "Is it always this cold?"

"The general temperature aboard the _Enterprise_ is the same as it always has been," Spock provided dutifully. "Your body temperature now averages ninety-one degrees Fahrenheit, considerably cooler than your original human body. It is only natural that you register the current environment as colder than before due to your previous experience of it as a human."

"Ah." Jim ducked his head, his attempt at escaping the slight awkwardness a failure. Another short silence passed before Spock leaned carefully into Jim's space.

"Something is bothering you."

Jim snorted softly, unsurprised by Spock's bluntness. "A little, yeah."

Spock didn't need to pry to know what was going on. He stepped closer. "The ship can return to Dramiir should you require it."

"Only through unauthorized measures, you mean," Jim countered, smiling with what humor he can muster. "We're on a new course now. We can't go back just yet, not unless we want to get Starfleet and the admiralty involved and open up a new can of worms. It's unnecessary, Spock – you don't want to do that."

"What aids my bondmate is never unnecessary."

Jim looked up at Spock's impassive face and saw the warmth shining behind the brown eyes. He couldn't stop the smile working its way onto his lips.

"Thanks, Spock."

The half-Vulcan extended two fingers out towards Jim, who didn't hesitate to reach out in return for a Vulcan kiss. As their fingertips met, a pleasurable tingle snaked up Jim's arm like wildfire, causing him to gasp lightly in surprise. The sensation was nothing like the kisses he and Spock usually shared in the Vulcan manner. Spock appeared equally surprised, having taken in a breath in a fashion not unlike Jim.

As their fingers continued to press together, Jim felt a presence buzzing and growing heavier in his mind, and he realized with increasing awe that it was Spock.

…_Spock?_

_I am here, Jim._

Jim laughed, amazed that his mental call worked. _We're not even melding!_

_We are two Vulcan bondmates in physical contact with one another_, came the amused reply. _It is evidently enough to form a communicative link. I admit I have never experienced this before. It is quite fascinating._

Jim rubbed his fingers against Spock's slowly, eliciting another soft burst of tingling pleasure up his hand and arm. _Wow_, he mused, still amazed at the sensation. _This is what you usually feel when we kiss this way?_

_To some extent, yes. The level of telepathic sensation between us has increased now that you also possess an independently telepathic mind. The connection between us is now more fluid._

_Fascinating_, Jim mimicked, raising an eyebrow. This earned him a gentle surge of mirth through the bond. _So it feels better this way?_

…_It is always enjoyable to be in contact with you._

At Spock's cautious answer, Jim looked away. He hadn't meant to ruin the moment with his question, and he wouldn't have blamed Spock if he'd simply agreed – that yes, one telepathic mind being joined to another by a kiss was more fluid and probably more satisfying than being shared with a non-telepath. Nor did Jim _want_ to seem insecure over this new discovery, even if it made perfect sense when he really thought about it…

Spock curled his fingers around Jim's and squeezed assuredly, making sure Jim is looking at him before bringing his captured fingers up to press against his lips.

_You are pleasing in any form, Jim._

Jim knew he was beginning to blush; he could feel the blood already burning his cheeks. Spock smiled ever so slightly and suddenly Jim didn't feel so bad anymore. He shook his head to himself and reached around Spock to reengage the lift before leaning in to capture his bondmate's lips in a human kiss.

He didn't remember why he was so worried before. What would pass would pass, and he had Spock and Bones and the whole crew of the _Enterprise_ to help him through it. As he and Spock kissed, lips gently pressed together and fingers carefully intertwined, Jim thought that perhaps his dilemma wouldn't be so hard to get through after all.

Because honestly, after having his species changed overnight and enduring the summation of a lifetime of Vulcan discipline in a single day, what else could really happen?

* * *

It wasn't until two days later that Jim began to feel something was wrong.

First off, he was still a Vulcan. It wasn't that he really expected to be "cured" after only a relatively short time, but the thought that he could be changed into another species in one night and not be able to figure out a way to revert back to his normal self just didn't… well, it just didn't seem fair. Jim just couldn't figure out what to do: if the Dramiiri empress' intentions really were for him to have a way to connect more intimately with Spock, then Jim feared he may be out of luck. He admitted, he and Spock had been exceedingly close during the past few days – within Spock's reasonable levels of comfort, of course – and that was just the problem. Under the Dramiiri spring's "guidelines" Jim's desire should have been fulfilled by now, shouldn't it?

He didn't understand it.

Jim's increasing distress most likely added to his next problem: his newly-developed control felt like it was slipping. He couldn't place what was causing it, but whatever it was he could practically sense it gradually increasing over the hours of each day. It was like an itch in the back of Jim's mind that dulled when he scratched at it, only to reemerge slightly more aggravated than before. He pondered on the causes and wondered if it might be due to the amount of time he'd spent so far in such a foreign body, what with his originally average and emotional mind now being given free rein in a telepathic one. The idea that he may just be under some kind of mental strain made sense to Jim, so he continued on as usual, taking care of his mind and body as Spock had shown him. He used the spare time he had that he didn't already dedicate to what little sleep he required to sessions of meditation. He slept in Spock's quarters with his bondmate – that way he didn't have to bother readjusting the temperature in his own, not when there was a haven right next door that was always willing to accommodate him. He learned to cope without eating meat – which was surprisingly easy, considering his new taste buds hardly registered anything more flavorful than the bitter and occasionally salty alien vegetables Spock seemed to like so much. He pushed the thought of his deteriorating emotional control to the back of his mind and focused on running his ship… and trying to work out the riddle of the Dramiiri spring.

The incident with Chekov was his wake-up call.

Spock wasn't there to witness it, something that Jim was rather thankful for; it was embarrassing enough with the rest of the bridge crew bearing witness. Sulu gaped at him when it was over, and Jim wanted to just hit himself at the way Chekov hunched away from him just a little when he tried to apologize. The rest of the crew present tried to look busy, and when Jim looked her way Uhura politely averted her eyes to her station.

It wasn't surprising that Spock ended up feeling a portion of his outburst, even while down in the main science lab. As he awkwardly handed off the bridge and made his way towards his quarters, Jim already and without a second thought knew that Spock would find and intercept him somewhere on his path. Sure enough, as Jim walked down the final corridor to his room, Spock appeared at the opposite end, visibly quickening his pace when he saw Jim. The captain came to a halt just outside Spock's quarters as Spock came to a halt in front of him.

The half-Vulcan wasted no time. "How are you faring, Jim?"

Jim resisted the urge to collapse back against the corridor wall and talked, knowing that with Spock there was no point in prolonging an explanation. "I… I don't know. I feel… _looser_ today. Like my inner emotional control is weaker."

Spock's eyes narrowed in apparent concern. "Perhaps more periods of meditation are required."

"…Yeah, you're probably right."

Spock was still looking at him, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he knew there was more to Jim's predicament. The first officer waited with an alien patience, his presence undemanding but softly encouraging.

Jim sighed and lowered his gaze so that he was looking at a point by Spock's shoulder. "…I snapped at Chekov today, Spock. Like, practically yelled at him. He didn't even really _do_ anything; all he did was trip by my chair as he was walking past to his station. It was completely unwarranted." He could still see the teen's vulnerable face in his mind, standing shocked as his captain barked unprovoked threats and insults at him. Jim looked back up into Spock's eyes, his Vulcan features somehow making him look even more lost and confused. "Do you think this could be the start of something serious?"

Spock looked thoughtful, processing what Jim had just told him. Jim could feel the gentle whirl of his bondmate's mind as it worked but doesn't pry, wanting to hear Spock's verdict willingly given from the source. The half-Vulcan stepped closer, an easing gesture, leaning in so their foreheads were mere centimeters from brushing.

"Jim," Spock began, his voice assurance on its own, "it was merely a brief loss of emotional control. You are naturally human, and I cannot imagine it has been a simple task for you adjusting to a new physique and biology that you quite literally obtained overnight. I do not believe it should be surprising that occasional outbreaks of strong emotions occur, considering that as a human you regularly expressed them. The Vulcan body _is_ different, as it – along with the mind – is designed to properly contain and suppress such strong expressions. That your natural personality and tendencies are clashing with your current genetic makeup and abilities should be expected."

It was a comfort Jim hadn't realized he'd needed until just now, hearing Spock's reaffirmation of his own theory. Something invisible squeezing around him suddenly loosened and Jim felt as though he could breathe a little easier.

He leaned forward, allowing his forehead to meet Spock's. "How is it you always know exactly what to say to make me feel better?"

The infamous eyebrow rose as if to say, "You need to ask?"

Jim laughed, the new happiness he felt filling him like a new breath of fresh air. He leaned in and claimed a grateful kiss, heart fluttering lightly when Spock eventually lifted a hand and wrapped paired fingers around Jim's. The captain sighed against his bondmate's lips, amazed at how mere words and a touch from the other could aid him so easily in seemingly any conflict.

Without really thinking about it, Jim backed Spock up against the wall, slowly deepening their kiss. Spock stiffened for a moment, then gradually relaxed, pulling his hand away from Jim's in order to grasp his shoulder – his other did the same on the opposite side. Jim's hands slid down to the half-Vulcan's waist, tugging the other closer so their bodies press together.

"Jim…" The captain's tongue slipped into Spock's mouth at the opportunity, swirling around inside gently before he pulled back, resting his forehead against a lightly flushed cheek.

"You're so good to me, Spock," Jim whispered into warm skin. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

"Jim," Spock said again. "Jim, please desist." But Jim didn't, Spock's words and the hands starting to push against his shoulders evidently ineffective. His thoughts were dim save for the ones of his bondmate, the wonderful being currently pressed up against him.

"Stop, Jim."

His newly gifted Vulcan strength kept Spock steady as he lavished his tongue over the pale throat. One hand trailed to palm Spock's ass while the other reached down to cup Spock from the front, squeezing gently.

_His Spock._

Against heated skin, he bit down.

"_Stop._" A trembling hand released his shoulder and promptly grabbed onto his pointed ear, pinching it _hard_.

It's as though he was slapped. Jim let go of Spock as if burned, backing up hurriedly until he hit the opposite wall. He looked anywhere but at Spock, panting as he came down from the unexpected high, thoughts rushing and deafening in his mind as he tried to figure out just what the hell had happened.

"_Shit_," Jim finally spit out, his tone disbelieving and slightly shaken. "Fuck, Spock, I'm so sorry."

Spock visibly straightened his clothes, a degree of something akin to guilt on his features as well. "Perhaps you should adhere to my suggestion," he said, and Jim could tell Spock was trying for an air of "I-told-you-so" humor. He failed miserably.

"Perhaps I should," Jim said quite seriously, eyes still averted. "Maybe I'll go see McCoy, too."

Spock only nodded, apparently not knowing how to respond with words. Jim's expression was one of confused sadness. What was _wrong_ with him? First Chekov, and now Spock? Neither of them had done anything to warrant his unexplainable behavior. Who was going to be next – Bones?

Spock stepped forward and carefully extended paired fingers towards Jim. The captain looked abashed – such trust after such an ugly episode?

"One day, Jim," the half-Vulcan supplied, his tone one of gentle regret. After a long moment of hesitation, Jim reached out to meet his bondmate's gesture, feeling understanding and forgiveness flowing through the contact. He didn't trust himself to handle anything else right now, so he smoothly broke the contact after short seconds.

Jim finally met the other's eyes, composing himself under the dark gaze. "I'll see you later, Commander."

Spock subtly straightened. "Captain."

* * *

The trip to sickbay felt much longer than usual. Usually it was Jim's desire to prolong his date with whatever combination of meds McCoy has neatly stuffed into his latest hypospray that had him moving as slowly as possible, but this time he really felt the need to think.

What the hell was happening? Mere days ago he'd been his regular self, proud captain of the starship _Enterprise_ and happily engaged to the finest first officer in the fleet. Now, and such a short time later at that, it feels like it's all been completely changed. At this point it wasn't so much the physical changes he was thinking of – those had been relatively easy to overcome, at least in comparison to what was happening now. The idea that his emotions were starting to set loose, and so _easily_ at that, was what really had Jim concerned.

It was the idea that he'd practically assaulted Spock just minutes ago, that it took Spock telling him to stop three times – _three fucking times_ – before he finally did so.

He had to find a way to get a hold of himself. Losing command of the _Enterprise_ was one thing; someone else would always be around to take care of the ship. But he'd be _damned_ if he lost Spock to this. Spock was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Jim felt he'd changed for the better because of their relationship – the slow pace that meant comfort for Spock brought a nice sense of balance to Jim's usually spontaneous personality, and that pace combined with their growing bond kept them both very content. If this loss of control, because of his weakening concentration or whatever, presented a threat to that comforting pace, then Jim was damn well going to take care of it.

He _had_ to.

As Jim entered sickbay there was no sarcastic remark or witty quip, and he silently thanked McCoy's unspoken doctoral intuition. One look at him and McCoy had him on a biobed and a scanner running over his body. It wasn't unlike the very first day this all began, and Jim softly snorted to himself.

McCoy didn't look distressed as he looked over the scanner's readings, so Jim supposed he had something to be thankful for.

"Well, your hormones are a little high, but not by too much. I can try giving you a suppressant, but I don't know how that Vulcan body of yours will react to it. Either way, it doesn't look too serious right now. If it increases well beyond today, though, that's when I'd be concerned." It was strange hearing McCoy talk about Vulcan physiology without making some kind of verbal jab about it, but Jim had always supposed it was really just a front meant for Spock. In any case, the humor of the situation wasn't hitting him right at the moment.

"Spock suggested more meditation," Jim dutifully supplied instead.

"Will it help?"

Jim only shrugged. "He thinks my control is slipping because I'm still getting used to all the changes my body's been forced to make." Of course, he wasn't sure _why_ it decided to take three days before acting up, but then he couldn't really ponder an ethical guess since he wasn't a doctor or a Vulcan. …Not _really_ a Vulcan, anyway.

McCoy set his scanner down on a nearby cart. "Well, if that's the case then I'd suggest following Spock's advice. Because hell, if he's not entirely sure about this, then there isn't a Klingon's chance on Iota Geminorum IV I'm gonna be able to give you anything more."

The corner of Jim's lips twitched dryly. "What, nothing else in that magical med bag of yours, Doctor?"

"Nothing that would be useful to Vulcans, anyway," McCoy retorted, crossing his arms and leaning back against the biobed opposite Jim. "Honest to _God_, Jim, after everything that's happened they're just as tightlipped as ever when it comes to their personal medicines. You'd think with a pointy-ear onboard already I'd at least get some better data on anatomy and biological functions, but no. And that means that even M'Benga's left in the dark, never mind how much experience he already has in dealing with Vulcans; he only knows what they'll have already told him, and that ain't much. Pisses me off…"

As the doctor faded off and Jim came down from the slight lift in spirit he'd gotten at his friend's familiar ranting, he pondered over this new information. McCoy obviously couldn't give him any advice he hadn't already heard before, which meant he was back to square one. It seemed like meditation was his best and only bet at this point, and it wasn't that Jim wasn't grateful he had an option to take – he just wished there were a more concrete and definite solution.

The biobed shifted. Jim glanced up to see McCoy taking a seat next to him, looking down at him with a concern Jim has come to know and, in some cases, slightly dread.

"What's on your mind, Jim?" McCoy's voice was soft, and Jim was reminded of their days at the academy, back when his personal troubles were linked merely to birthdays and bar brawls and the occasional fling gone wrong. Only this time, Jim didn't quite know how to start pouring his soul out to Bones with this one. Bouts of pent-up frustration and youthful troubles seemed so much simpler compared to this.

McCoy apparently misinterpreted his silence, because he stood up and made towards his office. "You want a drink?"

Jim raised a slanted eyebrow. "It wouldn't have the same effect, you know."

"Wouldn't stop you from enjoying the taste anyway," McCoy countered, but stopped just outside the door. "I've probably got some chocolate lying around, though…"

Jim couldn't help himself – he laughed. "Bones, you _know_ that rumor's not true. It's only effective as a relaxant."

McCoy grinned and shrugged, apparently abandoning his mission and walking back. "Got you to loosen up, didn't it?"

Jim's smile lingered as his friend retook his seat next to him.

"Now come on," McCoy prompted a second time. "Spill. Whatever you've got to say, it's safe. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

"So this is on the record then?"

There was a brief pause before McCoy leaned into him, nudging a warm shoulder against his own. "It's whatever you need it to be, Jim."

It was that silent, physical support that got him going.

"I just… I don't know what to do, Bones," Jim admited, speaking mainly to his hands dangling between his knees. "For the first time in a long time… I don't. I just feel so helpless right now. I was really short with Chekov today, and I… wasn't very respectful to Spock just now." He wouldn't breach Spock's sense of privacy right now; he wouldn't. "I feel like I'm losing myself to this body and I can't do anything to stop it."

"Hey now," McCoy said, leaning in, and Jim could tell that some of his friend's fatherly instincts were starting to kick in. "No one said we can't do anything about this. I thought you didn't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Well, there's no guarantee the extra meditation thing will actually work," Jim countered. "And we're much too far away at this point to just turn around and go back to Dramiir and get this fixed at the source; we have a new route now and we have to stick to it." Actually saying it drilled it deeper into his conscious mind, and it was like the reality had finally set in. There really was no going back anymore.

Jim buried his face in his hands, starting to feel more broken than he had in years. "God, if I'd have just been more cautious that day…" He was rambling now, but he didn't care. He was just _feeling_ everything right now and it was more overwhelming than he'd ever thought it would be. Jim was thinking about what he'd done in the past, what he'd been doing up until now, and the limited options considering what he could do in order to go on… and they certainly didn't hold any promises.

"What happened, Jim?"

He knew what Bones was talking about. And as much as he wanted to continue keeping this part of the ordeal to himself, as seemingly childish and selfish as it may be, it was like a dam broke and the story was spilling out. Jim told McCoy everything – what he'd really been talking about with the empress that night on Dramiir, how that topic had ultimately factored into her leading him to the spring… and what his "ultimate desire" evidently was. For once the doctor didn't interrupt with any of his usual questioning commentary; Jim was thankful.

Because while it felt slightly distressing knowing he'd kept the whole story from Bones and everyone else, at the same time it felt so _good_, if only for a moment, to come completely clean.

"You poor bastard," McCoy said when he was finished, looking like he was caught between throttling Jim and hugging him. "You sure you don't want that drink?"

Jim choked out a short breath, a laugh of near-desperation. "Bones, what am I _doing?_" he said, and _damn_ the stupid loose augmented emotions because now he just felt like he wanted to curl up in a corner and cry.

McCoy abruptly stood, placing himself in front of Jim and grabbing hold of the tops of his arms. "I'll tell you what you're doing, Jim. You're going back to your quarters and cranking up the heat to that god-awful temperature you hobgoblins like so much and _listening_ to Spock's advice. If you feel you can't handle social interaction right now, then don't. We need to focus on getting you fine and dandy again, and if more of this Vulcan meditation can help, then that's the option we go for." He stopped for a second, looking indecisive before stepping forward and pulling Jim into a rough hug, heedless of skin-to-skin contact. "And once we get you back fine and healthy, _then_ we can focus on finding a cure to this Dramiiri mumbo-jumbo."

Jim hugged McCoy back fiercely, try as he may to control his strength, relishing his friend's warmth and greedily tugging at the wave of reassurance emanating off the man.

"'S cold, Bones," he whined as they separate.

"That's cause your green-blooded body can't handle normal ship temperatures, you wimp," McCoy tried chiding, but Jim saw a stiffness in his posture now that wasn't there before. A pang of guilt set in as he realized some of his anxiety must have bled into McCoy at their contact. Guilty as he may have felt, however, he felt the newly desperate need to get to his quarters _now_.

"I want to let Spock know. But I… I don't–"

"I'll tell Spock the plan, Jim, don't worry," McCoy assured, and Jim hopped off the biobed. "I'm taking you off duty until you're better. You just focus on yourself right now."

Jim was shaking lightly, but he couldn't tell if it was because of sickbay's chill temperature or something else.

"Go on," the doctor said with finality, shooing him towards the door. "Go take care of yourself."

Jim left sickbay and walked as resolutely as he could towards his quarters. The realization that both Spock and McCoy were backing him on this decision helped more than he'd have thought possible, and for the long walk back he found himself temporarily calmed. This wasn't him – this body, this enhanced and overpowering brain – and he could fix it. He _could._

The mantra repeated itself in his mind until he entered his quarters and the door locked behind him.

The meditation would work.

* * *

The meditation didn't work.

It didn't take long to hit him after his visit with McCoy: the first hour left him relatively unchanged, and the second was no better.

By the end of the third, Jim gave up altogether.

If anything, he felt worse. His focus kept dwindling, and soon he found he could hardly focus on any one thing for more than fifteen minutes at a time. With each failed attempt at centering himself came a steadily building frustration that brought Jim down even further with it's now natural augmentation. Ordinarily he felt he wouldn't have given up so easily – and he wouldn't – but he would not be the fool who tried the same technique over and over only to hope for a different outcome.

Jim tried other things: he found paperwork to work on, tried to recite complex equations aloud, and even paced around his quarters. But the paperwork didn't hold his attention for long, his remaining focus couldn't handle the equations, and the pacing seemed only to serve to make tension and frustration he felt grow.

Near the end of the first day off duty, Jim left his quarters to see Spock; only sparing thoughts of his bondmate were keeping him going at this point, and the thought of seeing him was pleasure beyond words to Jim. He didn't go far before he saw Spock at a distance conversing with an ensign over a PADD held between them.

The sheer jolt of antipathy and possessiveness that ran through his body at the sight scared Jim enough that he all but sprinted back to his quarters, spurred only by what little control remained in him.

Soon after, Spock visited him, at least that's what it felt like. The level of his mental presence increased in his mind as his bondmate lingered outside his door, and Jim could feel waves of concern floating between them. Jim did his best to reciprocate the gesture, but he wasn't sure how successful he was. He knew Spock could have verbally spoken to him with the comm outside the door, but he was somewhat glad he didn't. Although it would have been nice to hear Spock's voice, Jim wasn't sure if he'd be able to carry to carry on a proper conversation at this point.

By the second day Jim deteriorated to a level he'd never imagined possible. Now it wasn't just scrambled and unfocused thoughts and emotions flailing loosely in his head – it was _hurting_. Pain suppression was McCoy's forte, as his experiences in the past had come to show him, but Jim couldn't pinpoint the source so getting Bones involved wouldn't do anybody any good. Also, the idea of leaving his quarters now seemed almost laughably impossible.

Jim admitted it: he was scared. He was scared of the situation, he was scared of what might happen next, and he was scared that he just might end up hurting somebody in his current state. The pain was steadily increasing as he continued to try and figure the whole thing out, and _fuck_ if he could just figure out what it was he _needed_…

All of the apparently conventional methods were useless now. Meditation was out because he couldn't focus, outside help was out because he couldn't leave, and hell if he was going to let Spock go through this mental agony of his, so Jim used what control he had left to lock up his shields as tightly as possible.

He wondered if he was going to die like this. It was a stupid thought, because his life and his crew – his friends – were just outside his door, ready to come to their captain's aid at a moment's notice. But then Jim could barely think straight and could hardly move and it all felt so _hopeless_. His mind ricocheted from one thing to the next, flashing over everything he knew without recognition or focus, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore he thought of Spock.

Oh yes, _Spock_.

For a short, miraculous moment the pain lifted, and Jim floated blissfully in the image of his bondmate…

The torment swiftly returned anew, pounding in his head like a molten hammer. It was as though he was on fire, his skin burning along with the air around him. Jim hunched over, a silent scream on his lips, flashes of his beloved flickering across his eyes like dying stars on his ship's horizon, and finally he had his answer.

_Spock_. He needed Spock.

He was still confused and scared, but at the same time he unexpectedly seemed understands what needed to be done, what needed to be given and taken. His shields were failing now, but he couldn't stand and _god_ he needed this unknown thing and he needed it now.

The door suddenly opened, fluorescent light filtering in past a standing shadow like an envoy from heaven, and Jim looked up and saw salvation.

* * *

Spock's concern for his mate peaked when Jim's presence was suddenly shielded from him.

He'd felt Jim's desperation grow as each passing hour yielded failed attempts at meditation, but it didn't strike him nearly as hard that this may have been something beyond their control until Jim cut himself off from everything. It was very clear now that this was not just a drastic loss of emotional control. Something else – something bigger – was at work here.

But Spock was not a mind healer. He couldn't help Jim through his struggle – not without knowing the cause of his predicament, and not while Jim had himself resolutely shut off.

If Spock was going to help, he had to subdue it at the source.

He should have known something was wrong during his visit the previous day. Even through the barrier of Jim's door Spock could feel the downward slide of anxiety beginning to taint the emotions filtering through.

Spock only hoped that by now, he was not too late.

He handed off the conn to Sulu and headed resolutely to the captain's quarters. It was admittedly strange, the lack of activity in the back of his mind usually caused by Jim's mental presence. It was a thing he'd come to cherish, Jim's mind, particularly since he and T'Pring had not shared a similar experience before her untimely death due to Vulcan's implosion. The childhood bond had been implemented by outside forces, whereas his initial bond with Jim had been consensual, given and taken of free will. Whereas Spock's bond with T'Pring had merely notified him of her continued existence, his link with Jim promised more – a guide and connection to someone who took Spock for who he was, who _loved_ him.

Spock wanted that back.

He wanted _Jim_ back.

As the lift stopped on the appropriate deck and Spock strode down the corridor with determination, suddenly Jim was _there_ again.

The abruptness of it stopped Spock dead in his tracks. A part of him was relieved – thankful that Jim was indeed still with him – but then Spock felt it for what it really was: an ill omen. The things that spilled out of Jim's mind felt lost, not damaged but still seemingly wild beyond control. Spock gripped his temple with a hand before tentatively continuing forward. The door to Jim's quarters was only four away now. He was so close.

Three doors away.

Two doors.

One–

A driving force hit him and he staggered, throwing out an arm to brace himself against the corridor wall. It's something Spock had never experienced before: a bleeding, primal intensity that radiates a desperate need that he cannot put a name to. It _hurt_. Spock could only envisage what it was his bondmate was going through, mentally listing through all of the known possibilities that could be ailing Jim with diminishing success.

Under Jim's added stress, Spock nearly dubbed the situation unsolvable… but suddenly his thoughts were called to an unspeakable possibility.

The signs were there. The symptoms fit.

Were it true, that would mean that Jim was…

Spock's eyes fixed hard on the eerily quiet door.

It's _couldn't_ be.

He forced himself forward, his illogical hope at coming to an answer now tainted with a sense of dread. He was surprised to find the captain's door unlocked, and after a minute, newfound sense of hesitation, Spock pressed the button for admission and the door slid open.

Across the room, Jim was curled up at the base of his bed. He was breathing heavily, trembling despite the fact that the room's current temperature was well above the normal level of Vulcan comfort. For a long moment Spock didn't move, tension riding along his spine as he took in the sight before him. His bondmate was obviously distressed, and Spock's concern for him finally overrode his uncertainty; he took a cautious step forward, then promptly froze in place as Jim's face snapped up toward him.

Jim was an emotional person by nature – his eyes were the natural portals into his mind, his inner thoughts and self. When Spock looked into them now, he saw intensity beyond comprehension: desperate need, desire, _lust_. They were simple things to say, to read, and to write – but _seeing_ them like this… it rooted Spock in place. Jim's eyes absolutely burned, their lightning-blue color practically glowing against the green flush of his skin, pupils mere pinpricks against the blinding light from the hallway.

There was no mistaking it – Spock now knew what is ailing his bondmate, but finding the answer did nothing to placate his nerves.

He located the strength to take a step back.

Jim slowly straightened, his eyes never leaving Spock. He was no longer trembling and his breathing became jarringly quiet.

"Spock…"

Jim's voice was a whisper, low and heated. A silent hunger rides with it and it was then that Spock realized with a jolt that he was not prepared at all for this. He would never have predicted that the previous events could have given way to such an unexpected situation, and as such he had not.

He was ill prepared. He couldn't do this.

He couldn't.

When Jim took a step towards him, Spock did the first thing his preliminary instincts prompted him to do.

He ran.

* * *

Under normal circumstances McCoy would have likely dismissed the first call merely as a result of what he famously patented as "Jim's stupid shenanigans."

But he already knew from the beginning that these were not normal circumstances.

As the calls increased in number and the reports increased in gravity, it dawned on McCoy in chilling realization just how far Jim had fallen in so short a time. Merely yesterday, Jim was experiencing what McCoy saw as a minor emotional and hormonal imbalance. Now, according to the accounts of various crewmembers, the captain seemed out of control: he paid no heed to anyone who tried to grab his attention, his breathing was disturbingly heavy, and he hadn't uttered so much as a word to anyone since the whole thing started. Worse, it appeared that Spock is the only one who is worth Jim's attention – the half-Vulcan had apparently been chased around half the ship in two hours' time. McCoy could only guess as to what was really going on, and it couldn't be good if it had Spock running, and running from _Jim_ at that.

McCoy hadn't felt this helpless in years, not since his divorce.

By the time the third hour came around, and while McCoy was trying to figure out just how his medical knowledge _could_ help, Spock ran into sickbay.

"What the _hell_, Spock?" the doctor immediately said, not really meaning to snap at the half-Vulcan but unable to keep the bite in his tone back. "Twenty-seven calls. _Twenty-seven_, Spock, and each one of them telling me just how out of his goddamn mind Captain Kirk is. I saw him yesterday and he wasn't anywhere _near_ as bad as he is now." He followed Spock with his eyes as he moved, then turned to the PADD containing Jim's apparent new symptoms. "This is some Vulcan ailment, isn't it? It just has to be, with the way you're–"

When McCoy turned around again to face Spock, he froze at what he saw.

Spock looked… genuinely upset. He'd curled himself up beside one of the storage cabinets, arms clinging around knees pressed against his chest. The fact that he was so easily readable… it disturbed McCoy.

The doctor crossed over to where Spock was, crouching down so he was on the same level as the other.

"Spock," he tried, noting that even though he'd evidently been running for the past three hours, the half-Vulcan wasn't even out of breath. "Spock, what is it? What's going on?" Spock shifted, but didn't look at McCoy.

"The captain is… seeking me."

"Why?"

Spock's grip on his knees visibly tightened. "It is… complicated."

McCoy almost laughed. "You're telling me," he said, voice laced with soft sarcasm. "Spock, what's wrong with Jim? And don't tell me you don't know anything, because I _know_ that's bullshit. You're bondmates, for God's sake, and if I'm gonna help I'll need to know exactly what it is I'm dealing with."

"You can do nothing, Doctor. This… issue falls outside the abilities of human medicine."

"Now look, Spock–"

"You _cannot help_, Doctor."

McCoy felt like hitting something. "Then get the hell out of my sickbay," he barked, standing up to his full height. "If I'm so helpless, you can go find yourself another goddamn hiding place."

Spock abruptly looked up at him, and the expression on his face caused the frustrated annoyance to bleed out of McCoy almost immediately. He sighed, running a hand over his face before crouching back down.

"Spock," he said yet again. "Please. This concerns Jim, and it concerns you. You can't just expect me to…" He faded off, not entirely certain what it was he was going to say.

For a long moment Spock was silent, and McCoy resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't get an answer, and that whatever it was Jim was going through, he'd apparently have to go at it alone.

"It is not spoken of; it is taboo."

At the soft admission, McCoy straightened in attentiveness. He was close to prompting Spock to keep going when the half-Vulcan did so on his own, albeit with visible hesitation.

"…It is called Pon Farr – the Vulcan mating drive. It is a natural incidence among adult Vulcans, occurring once every seven years. During this time, a Vulcan's logic is stripped of him, and one thing takes precedence over all else: the taking of a mate. If he does not… he will die."

"And Jim is undergoing this," McCoy contributed slowly, carefully taking the information in. "Spock, did you know he was–"

"_No._" The word was spoken swiftly, cutting McCoy off. "No, Doctor. I was only aware that the captain was struggling with his emotional containment; there was no sign or warning of any kind that anything more was taking place. That his condition has deteriorated so quickly and in less than a day's time is… disturbing. Had I known what it was the captain was going through sooner, I… I would have…" Spock seemed to hunch in more on himself. "Nevertheless, the past is past. The captain is affected and that is all you need to know. Given the quickness of his condition's corrosion, I estimate that if he does not mate within the next forty-eight hours, he will die." Although Spock's words are logical and detached, his actual nervousness is betrayed by the crumbling expression in his eyes and the ever so slight shaking of his hands.

McCoy's eyes narrowed in thought. "But… he's your bondmate, Spock, so…"

"He must mate with me," Spock finished softly.

"Well, then why don't you? You can put an end to this Spock!" McCoy was not angry now as much as he was confounded. Obviously there was something more to the story, because he couldn't think of any reason for Spock to be so distressed when all he had to do is have sex with his own _mate_, of all things.

Unless…

McCoy's sudden suspicion was confirmed when Spock looked up at him with an almost culpable expression. "We have not…" the half-Vulcan started, only to look away. "That is, I have never…"

"Never?" At the slow, short nod, McCoy sunk down to sit directly across from Spock. "But you love each other, and you've been together for months now. Chances are you would've… done it eventually together – why not now?"

"Pon Farr is not a simple thing. Once under the influence of the plak tow – the blood fever – a Vulcan is immune to rational thought. There is no reasoning with him. He will mate with me… or he will die."

"He's really that far gone?"

"…I have been unable to determine so with certainty. I can only assume and estimate."

McCoy frowned. Spock's explanations were complex enough, as always, but they didn't completely answer his questions. The fact that Spock was so seemingly preoccupied that he was failing to answer straightforward questions spoke volumes; something else was going on here.

The doctor took in a breath before he delved deeper. "The way you talk about it, it seems like you know a lot the basics of this mating drive – what to look for and what to expect. But there's something else, isn't there? Something that's got you especially worried. Am I right?" Spock gave him his answer by doing nothing. "…What is it, Spock?"

The half-Vulcan leaned down, burying his face in his knees.

"Jim is _human_," Spock said, and McCoy strained to hear his muffled voice. "A highly emotional and expressive being… whose normally unrestrained personality is now trapped within the confines of a fully-Vulcan body. Given his lack of experience with emotional suppression to begin with and the biological events currently occurring within him… there is no predicting just how dangerous he has become."

"You're saying this is a naturally violent process?"

"As far as my knowledge extends, yes. I myself have not yet experienced my first Pon Farr, nor am I certain if I ever will due to my mixed heritage. However, despite the taboo nature of the mating drive among my people, I have… heard stories."

"…Not good?"

"They were all of a violent nature."

McCoy stayed silent, taking everything he had learned in. Spock's words do make sense in the end, and he could understand this difficulty and what it was doing to him. It was ripping emotions out of the half-Vulcan bit by bit, all while Jim was still suffering what was an unimaginable thing to McCoy.

He felt helpless all over again.

Spock raised his head to look at McCoy, and the sheer despair in his eyes was heartbreaking.

"…Doctor McCoy, Jim is my mate. We _are_ bonded. He is… everything. But I fear I am not prepared, under the circumstances… I cannot control…"

"Spock," the doctor interrupted as the other starts to fade, "don't tell me all of this and expect me to sit here quietly. Tell me: what can I do?"

Spock was shaking his head, a hand rising to grip the side of his head as if in pain. "As I have told you before, this does not concern you, Doctor."

"The _hell_ it doesn't! Jim is my best friend, and God have mercy on me if I don't do anything I can to help save him." McCoy picked himself up off the floor, leaning closer and pulling Spock's shoulder into his grip. "And if I can find a way to do that _and_ make this easier for you, then dammit, I'm gonna do so." At Spock's softening, mystified look, he eventually added, "…I'm a doctor, Spock – I understand more than you realize."

"…Thank you, Doctor, but I'm afraid–" Spock suddenly stopped, sitting up ramrod-straight and looking as if he was listening to or for something.

"He draws near."

Spock stood, losing his balance slightly before righting himself properly and heading for the exit.

McCoy stood as well. "There's really nothing?" he called, his cracking voice halting Spock by the door. "Not even some kind of secret Vulcan meditation or something? Nothing?" More silence reigned before he was given an answer.

"Were there such a remedy to employ, I believe us to be long past the point of trying it successfully." Spock slowly turned to face him, looking unnaturally lost. "Do not attempt to intervene, Doctor. I alone must bear this burden." With that, he was gone.

McCoy ran both hands through his hair, squeezing hard until he could feel the roots straining in agony. As he slowly made his way to his office and sat down, his mind rushed with everything he had learned. Jim and Spock were both out there, he realized, running towards and away from a fateful thing that seemed ultimately inevitable.

And he couldn't do anything to help either one of them.

McCoy suddenly straightened in his chair, reaching for a PADD and typing furiously into it. Once he was finished he stood, heading determinedly for the nearest intercom unit.

There was one thing he could do, and while it wouldn't help either Jim or Spock, it was damn well better than doing nothing.

* * *

Illogic spurred him.

For the first time he could ever recall in his life, Spock lost track of time. McCoy's announcement to the crew occurred just minutes after he left sickbay, he remembered, but as far as exactly how long ago his departure was… Spock didn't remember.

McCoy's words were a warning to every crewmember: that the captain and first officer were not to be interfered with, and that the situation at hand would benefit from a lack of outside assistance. Despite himself, Spock felt grateful; McCoy didn't speak of any of the details of Jim's state, but he mentioned enough to keep the crew minimally informed. Spock was pleased, if only for a moment, that the doctor had proved him wrong in this instance – he didn't want any of the crew injured on his behalf.

Spock was torn; this level of confliction was something he'd never before experienced. The inevitability of the situation did not escape him – if Jim was to live he needed to mate, and when this well-known fact cemented itself enough in Spock's thoughts, he slowed. But as soon as Jim was close enough that Spock could feel the unrelenting push of the wild, irrepressible emotions, it was as though his desires were ripped from him; his mind blocked off the mental onslaught and he continued to move, urged by a self-preserving force he could not control.

No matter how much Spock wished to help Jim – to _save_ him – his current state would not allow it.

"…Mister Spock?"

His head jerked up at the address and suddenly he was aware of his surroundings. He'd evidently made his way to the engineering deck, now coiled up underneath an unmanned console with one Montgomery Scott looking down at him. The chief engineer looked hesitant, more so than he ever had in all the time Spock had known him.

"What are you hidin' down there for?"

Spock inwardly bristled; he did not want to have this conversation again. It hurt too much.

"It is… complicated," he settled for.

Scotty looked more uncomfortable, but leaned in more with a hint of determination in his air. "This wouldn't happen to have somethin' to do with the captain's condition, would it?"

"As I have just said, Mister Scott, it is a complicated matter. Please… leave me be." Spock realized he must have been as readable as any human at this point and curled in further on himself. He found himself hoping that Scotty would leave the matter alone, but the look on the man's face told him otherwise.

"You know a solution to this, don' you, Commander?" he said with what sounds like growing determination. "A way to help the captain?"

Contrary to apparent popular belief, Montgomery Scott was not as socially simpleminded as he usually appeared to be. It was clear he'd been thinking on this topic for some time now, most likely since McCoy's address. Spock presently cursed the engineer's silent insightfulness.

He remained silent.

"Mister Spock," Scotty said, reading Spock's answer for what it was, "if you know of a way to fix all this, then why aren't you–"

He'd had enough.

"_Mister Scott_," Spock uncharacteristically hissed, feeling his frustration and anger and helplessness pulse through him like never before, lacing his voice as he speaks. He fixed his stare on Scotty, who looked taken aback. "This matter does not concern you. I am well aware of what it is I am doing, and as you know nothing of the situation, I would appreciate it if you would cease offering your comments and opinions where they are not sought. _Leave me be._"

The Scotsman's face slowly morphed into an expression akin to irritation, and he abruptly kneeled down on level with the half-Vulcan.

"Now you see here, Spock!" he practically barked, his voice tinted with frustration totally alien to the normally cheerful man. "I realize I don' know the whole story, but I'm not some simpleminded fool. I'd like to think I'm smart enough to take a few educated guesses as to what's goin' on.

"You an' the captain are in love. I know it. The whole damn _ship_ knows it. An' goodness knows you'd both offer up your _lives_ for the other if it came down to it. Hell, you've done it before.

"Now you're right, I don' know a thing about what's been goin' on, but whatever it is – _look_ at me, dammit." Spock jolted slightly as a warmer hand unexpectedly grabbed onto his tunic in a tight grip. "Whatever it is, it's got you as meek as a cornered rabbit. And if it's bad enough to put you in this state, then I know you must know _somethin'_ about how to fix it.

"The way I've been hearin' it, the longer the captain is like this the worse he gets – and you know that, don' you? I can see it in your face, and you're pretty damn readable right now, Commander. …Spock, I don' want to seem like some heartless bastard, and you know I'd never think to question your loyalty to Jim, but whatever it is that's got you afraid you need to man up and face it. You need to get your priorities straight an' figure out which is more important to you: your own personal comfort, or Jim's _life_. But if you think your time is better served sittin' here and hidin' like a coward than helpin' the man who loves you, then by all means, please do so! Just remember that any kind of fallout is goin' to be on _your_ conscience."

Scotty's impassioned outburst ended on a high note – he was still looming over Spock, but the half-Vulcan took no note of his current expression. Spock was staring almost blankly at a spot past the engineer's side, having broken eye contact with the man long seconds before.

A period of silence followed, threatening to deafen them, and suddenly Scotty blinked, reeling back slightly and breathing deeply. He was looking at Spock with a sense of realization; it's as if he'd realized just who it is he'd been yelling at.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Commander," Scotty stammered, now seemingly of a completely different mind than he was mere moments ago. "I don' know what came over me." His previous distress was still evident, and he stood awkwardly. "I'll just…" Scotty never finishes, slowly turning and walking off, looking lost and upset.

It hit Spock then – truly hit him – that he was not the only person drastically affected by this entire situation. He'd just been shown that Scotty was extremely bothered by his captain's condition, and most likely felt just as helpless knowing he couldn't do anything to help him. McCoy most likely felt the same, perhaps worse considering that he was Jim's best friend. Both men were close to the captain, and it was tearing them apart to know that their friend was fading away right in front of them and they were helpless to stop the process.

And here Spock sat, alone and fretful, knowing full well what it was that could save Jim and yet taking no action. He was… afraid. Afraid of something he had never experienced, had only heard of. It was a horrible thought, that he had the key to Jim's life and salvation and yet refused to touch it. Jim would not have done so – Jim would have already acted for the best, and Spock knew it. And yet he could practically hear Jim's voice now, telling him to keep safe, to not go getting himself hurt. Jim always put Spock first, always sought to protect him first as he had always done.

_It's unnecessary, Spock – you don't want to do that._

_What aids my bondmate is never unnecessary._

A sudden, involuntary cry escaped him as a shudder racked his body.

He was a fool.

The others were right: he was a coward, a lowly being who would have mere minutes ago allowed his bondmate to die so that his own comfort would remain undisturbed and his illogical fears unmet. Scotty's words still remained in his ears, that it was still _Jim_, the man who never hesitated before telling Spock how much he meant to him, both in public and in private; the man who agreed to take their relationship slow in order to show Spock his commitment; the man whose very wellbeing now rested squarely on Spock's shoulders.

He stood on shaky legs, letting the blood circulate properly back into them before steadily making his way out of Engineering.

* * *

Spock didn't have to go far before he felt Jim's presence descend upon him.

He stopped in the presently vacant corridor, the familiar anxiousness drifting over him. Jim felt distant enough that his thoughts didn't threaten Spock's mental shields, but he was closing fast. The half-Vulcan breathed deeply, willing himself to stay calm.

In a matter of minutes – 2.43 minutes Spock manages to count – the sound of the turbolift doors opening echoed through the corridor. Stomping, irregular footsteps ricocheted in the air and in a matter of seconds Jim stumbled into view through the perpendicular hall.

He looked… terrible. His breath seemed shallow, his face flushed, and one of his hands groped at the wall in front of him for support. The ensuing jumble of emotions discharging from the being in front of him finally threatened Spock's shields, but he made himself to straighten. He would not run anymore.

"Jim…" Spock breathed, his voice quiet.

It's as though he'd shouted. Jim visibly started, head jerking and wide eyes immediately training on Spock. For one second that seemed like an eternity, Jim looked at him with raw eyes, silently mouthing the half-Vulcan's name. In the next instant he was sprinting forward with an unnaturally renewed energy, as if his previous state of exhaustion had been nonexistent.

Spock trembled involuntarily and shut his eyes.

Whatever it was he was expecting, it certainly wasn't the tight embrace he became swiftly trapped in. Spock reflexively gasped, eyes shooting back open, the sudden closeness of Jim and his ragged emotions overwhelming him. Jim squeezed him tightly, just beyond the threshold of pain, body shaking subtly against Spock and breath coming in deep swallows of air. The half-Vulcan remained still, struggling to comprehend just what was happening. Jim was not taking him. Jim was not hurting him. Jim was not doing anything save holding him.

As far as Spock's knowledge extended, this was not how the process was meant to proceed.

He could feel the mental torrent that was Jim's mind pushing against the barriers of his own, and Spock knew he could not keep this denial up for much longer. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes again, carefully pulling down his walls.

Jim's emotions rushed into him in as a flood, bearing down on his mind and body in a wave of unkempt distortion. The effect was dizzying, and Spock strained to understand what it was Jim was feeling. The moment Spock completely lowered his shields, however, it was as though a calming swell bore over Jim, and the path was made all the more clear for Spock. He brushed over what he expected – lust, primal desire – but he also felt something else, things that completely overpowered all else: relief, possessiveness, protectiveness, and… _love_.

There wasn't a violent thought to be found.

Spock released his breath, cautiously placing his hands on Jim's shoulders. Jim pulled him in even closer, burying his face into the half-Vulcan's neck. A warm breath released against his skin as a clouded burst of relief pulsed into his mind.

Spock was beginning to suspect he had made a terrible misjudgment.

He didn't have to open up much further before he felt hurt radiate through to him. _Pain_.

When Spock managed to pinpoint the source of that pain, it was as though something cold and sharp cut through him. Jim was not yet burning from the plak tow, but he was close enough that Spock could feel the resulting sharp ache. However, this was not what had Spock so distressed. What hit him to the core was that the largest amount of pain radiating off of Jim was coming from the bond. Spock was appalled – Jim's end of the bond was strained and weakened, a once taut string now limp from overstretching. It reacted positively to the reopening of Spock's mind to it, so much so that it led him to his current realization.

It was not just the need for Spock's body that had driven Jim thus far, but rather, a need simply for _Spock_. Not only in body, but in mind – a mind that had been resolutely shut off from Jim for the past four point two hours.

Not only had Jim been pained by the nature of the mating drive, but he'd been hurt further – and unnecessarily so – by Spock's continued distance from him.

Guilt this severe was relatively new to Spock, something he hadn't experienced since the death of his mother.

Jim snuffled against his neck. He dragged his cheek up Spock's jaw, a rumble forming in his throat. Spock felt short, almost choked puffs of air against his cheek. He realized after a short moment that Jim was trying to say his name.

"Jim?" Spock said, and felt his bondmate's grip constrict again. He turned his face toward Jim's and watched as he struggled.

"H… hu…" Jim squeezed his eyes shut briefly, clenching his jaw before he opened them again, shining blue orbs gazing hard into Spock. "…_Hurts_…"

Spock came to understand in that single pained word the human sensation of one's "heart breaking." Any remaining defiance or doubt was suddenly gone, and he slowly reached up a hand to cup Jim's cheek, watching as his tortured bondmate immediately leaned into it like a touch-starved puppy. Jim's own hand moved up to capture Spock's, twining their index and middle fingers together before leaning in and resting his forehead on Spock's.

"Spock…"

"Forgive me, Jim," he said, feeling the full weight of what he has done come upon him. He moved his remaining hand up to cup the back of Jim's head. "I am here now."

Spock leaned in, placing a careful kiss on Jim's mouth. Jim responded eagerly, but he did not attack Spock's lips as partially expected. He did not release his grip on the half-Vulcan, but his responding kisses were gentle, moving over Spock's lips in loving caresses. Steadily his kisses deepened, and soon his tongue was pushing its way into Spock's mouth. To his credit the half-Vulcan did not stiffen; rather, he found himself beginning to relax in Jim's grip.

It was only when he found himself with his back pressed into the wall that Spock finally spoke up.

"Jim," Spock whispered, unable to suppress a slight shudder when his bondmate nipped and licked at the juncture of his neck and jaw; it was not unlike the instance that occurred merely days ago. "Not here." He attempted to impress the suggestion onto Jim, and suddenly he was pulled off the wall and lifted up and cradled in a pair of strong arms. Somehow Jim's mouth stayed attached to Spock's throat during the shift, compulsively suckling on the pale skin.

Jim walked rather leisurely back to his quarters, apparently not in any hurry now that he had Spock in his possession. The half-Vulcan concealed his face against Jim's neck as they moved, not exactly desiring to witness the looks of any crewmembers that happened to see them as they went by. Jim's grip remained firm on him; Spock could feel slowing breaths lightly tousling his hair and right ear along with the weight of Jim's cheek resting on the top of his head.

By the time they reached their destination Jim had begun to pick up his pace. The door to his quarters slid shut and Jim made a solid path straight to his bed, setting Spock down rather gently on it. Here Spock stiffened all over again, comprehending just what it was that he was about to do. He knew he could not – would not – allow himself to back out anymore than he already has… but regardless, this would still be his first time engaging in sexual activity.

He was… admittedly nervous.

And he still did not know what kind of nature his bondmate would express as his Time progressed on.

Jim climbed on top of him, straddling his stomach and leaning down to claim a kiss. Spock shut his eyes at the feel of the other's tongue entering his mouth once more. Hands came up to grasp and caress the sides of Spock's face, trailing down to drag warming fingertips along his throat. So far Jim had projected to Spock nothing but affection – warm feelings now magnified by the drive coursing within him. The half-Vulcan relaxed against the sheets, returning the kiss and earning a contented rumble from Jim's throat. Their lips parted and Jim peppered kisses along the rest of Spock's face. When insistent fingers nudged at his chin, Spock tilted his head back obligingly, allowing Jim to continue his work on his neck, lapping and sucking busily along his skin.

He gasped when he felt Jim bite down, not hard enough to break skin but more than enough to bruise. Jim's possessiveness was beginning to show itself, and Spock could feel his pulse begin to quicken. A short breath escaped him as Jim released him from his mouth and laved a tongue over the wounded area almost apologetically. As he did so, Jim stretched out his legs, effectively lowering his heavy Vulcan body down to rest fully against Spock's.

Jim's distinct erection jutted into his stomach, and Spock could not stop himself from jolting. Before he knew it his arms were pinned above his head in the grip of strong hands and Jim was looking down at him with an expression akin to fear. The two stared at one another, Spock willing himself to calm and Jim regarding him.

Spock did not fully understand it. He was more than aware of his continuing anxiousness, but he could not comprehend exactly why he was suddenly so restless. This was Jim. _Jim_, his bondmate, who loved him and for whose wellbeing Spock was now willingly offering himself. He did not fear him, and yet he seemingly resisted. What was this thing that he could not identify, could not control?

Jim tilted his head, shifting his hips against the body beneath him, and with a hitched breath Spock suddenly had his answer.

Arousal.

Spock had experienced love for his bondmate many times over, but this was the first instance, he realized, that he had been given the opportunity to feel such heavy sexual arousal for him. His awareness was quickly brought to the organ between his own legs, which had already half-hardened without his noticing. With the realization of what it was he is experiencing came the knowledge that he could exert control over it should he wish to, but Spock found that… he did not think he wanted to.

Over him, Jim shifted lower so that he lay snugly between Spock's legs. The half-Vulcan's pinned arms were lifted in Jim's hands, consciously draped around the other's neck. Jim lowered his head to rest against Spock's; they breathed each other's air as Jim began to rock.

Spock could not close his eyes, not now when he was lost in Jim's. He could feel everything about Jim: the steady stream of protective affection his mind was pulsing into Spock's, the gentle hum of his air intake as he breathed, and – most distinctly at present – the astounding sensation provided as Jim's hips shifted and rotated against his own. It was very new, this level of arousal that Spock was experiencing; to a degree it was almost frightening, and he understood in calmer realization just what had made him so apprehensive.

He contemplated once more the option of control.

Almost immediately, Spock let it go.

Jim's dry thrusts became more insistent; his breathing became heavier. A hand smoothed down Spock's side, sliding beneath his clothing to press against the cool skin of his stomach. Nails raked along his belly as the hand pulled out, and fingers tugged firmly on the edge of his tunic.

"Spock…" came the unexpected obstructed whisper against his mouth. "I… I can't…"

Spock clasped Jim's face gently in his hands. "I am here, Jim." He kissed him.

Jim tugged Spock up into a sitting position, quickly ridding him of his science tunic and undershirt. He lay his mate back down before removing his own tops. Teeth swiftly began to nip along Spock's shoulder and collarbone before Jim buried his nose in the soft hair lining his chest. The blonde head moved to one side and Spock's nipple was sucked into a warm mouth. The half-Vulcan gasped at the contact, struggling against a moan as Jim's teeth and tongue gently worked and teased the nub of flesh. Once it was completely erected Jim released it, nuzzling it briefly before listing over to the other and performing the same treatment. Spock wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, eventually settling on gripping them loosely in Jim's hair. On a sense of impulsiveness, Spock let a hand wander down to one of Jim's pointed ears, tracing the edge up and down before delicately squeezing the tip between his fingers. A rumbling groan escaped Jim's mouth against Spock's chest. A twinge of amusement drifted through Spock and he strained his neck to lean forward in order to kiss Jim's forehead. Jim met him halfway, pushing his head toward Spock and then placing a wet kiss over his mouth, touching their noses together in the process.

Spock lay back as Jim trailed his way down his stomach, kissing wetly along his ribs and delving his tongue into his navel. After a thought he smoothed his own hand over the top of Jim's back, moving over his shoulder and cupping the back of his neck. Hands lowered to grab at his hips and suddenly Jim was moving much faster, deftly working at the fastenings to Spock's uniform trousers.

The half-Vulcan felt some of his earlier anxieties begin to return as Jim smoothly removed his pants along with his boots and socks. Only his regulation black boxer briefs covered him now, and he realized he'd never been so naked in Jim's presence before. Each action that Jim took brought them progressively closer to the copulation that he ultimately needed, and despite the pleasurable stirrings they brought, they mainly served to remind Spock that he had never done this before. He did not have the experience to know what to expect… but he did trust Jim, no matter how much he pondered the issue.

A hand passed over his crotch and Spock impulsively bucked. Jim looked up at him, his eyes holding a new degree of impassioned fierceness, and he rubbed Spock again, fingers squeezing the clothed organ in no particular rhythm. Spock's eye closed halfway, pleasure rocketing up his body from his stimulated groin. A particularly slow compression drew out a stuttering moan from him and Jim was flushing green with arousal. In a matter of seconds Spock's boxer briefs were gone, releasing his now full erection into the pleasantly sweltering air. Before he could comprehend the swift change Jim was back looming between his legs and the tip of his penis was sucked into a comparably cooler mouth.

Brown eyes flew open in shock. Spock's head heaved back into the pillow and his throat attempted to produce an adequate sound in response to what he was experiencing. Jim swirled him around in his mouth, tongue circling the head and dipping generously into the slit. Teeth grazed the column of flesh as Jim's mouth descended further, and once Spock was completely encased inside the wet cavern he found himself whining softly. Then Jim's tongue pressed flat against the underside of his penis and he sucked and sucked _hard_ and Spock's whine escalated into a sharp, weak cry.

He could feel a pressure building below his belly. It was both uncomfortable and enjoyable at the same time, a tight and pulsing twisting of sorts. It built to a low throb in his groin, and when he instinctively bucked Jim's hands came up and efficiently pinned his hips down onto the bed. Spock's own hands settled for tightly gripping the sheets on either side of him. Jim suddenly hummed, his voice vibrating deliciously around Spock's penis, and Vulcan poise be damned, Spock could not hold back the long, high moan that escaped from him.

The hot pulsing in his groin quickened and Spock realized that he was nearing orgasm. A glow of curious anticipation washed over him as he instinctively tried to control himself. He turned the side of his face against the pillow as the unnamable pressure inside him inevitably built, his chest heaving in quickening bursts as he watched the blonde head continue to bob expertly between his thighs. A white-hot burst flashed across his vision and Spock could feel his release looming directly over him.

Suddenly Jim's mouth was gone and Spock's glistening cock bobbed helplessly in the warm heat over his stomach. Hungry blue eyes raked over the half-Vulcan, taking in the unusually wanton look of his appearance: the disheveled black bangs hanging over half-lidded eyes, the wet, engorged cock resting over the flat belly, and the enticing spread of his mate's legs.

Jim haphazardly removed his boots and fumbled with the clasp on his pants. In the absence of direct stimulation Spock regained a portion of his levelheadedness. He knew what was coming next.

With less of a sense of dread and more of a gentle acceptance, Spock pushed himself up on the bed, turning over and positioning himself on his hands and knees. Instead of the expected feel of hands on his buttocks, Spock was presented with the sound of a drawer opening. He jerked his head to the left to see Jim leaning over the side of his bed and hurriedly fishing for something in the drawer of the bedside table, his slanted brows narrowed in concentration. After a moment he grinned in success and pulled his hand out, revealing a sealed, unopened bottle of lubricant.

Spock contemplated the sentiment that surged through him at the sight, not entirely comprehending the hands that soon gripped his hips and gently flipped him over onto his back. He came back to himself as Jim leaned forward to kiss him, lips transmitting both devotion and possessiveness in the same caressing touch. Jim pulled away slowly. The soft _snap_ of the bottle's seal being broken echoed shortly and Spock sucked in a silent breath. Everything around him felt so jumbled now, and it was difficult for him to determine if what he was feeling was nervousness or merely anticipation at this point.

Perhaps it was both.

Spock started when a slick finger circled his anus. Jim placed a hand underneath his knee, pushing it up to provide better access both physically and visually. The finger petted him gently, coaxing the muscles of the puckered entrance to relax before pushing slowly inside. Spock's eyes widened at the feel and he couldn't stop from squirming slightly. It did not hurt, not even when the finger twisted slowly inside him, but it did hold some discomfort. After a moment he became used to the sensation, just in time before Jim added a second slickened finger alongside the first. He reflexively clenched down when the fingers proceeded to scissor against the walls of his rectum; the low groan he heard caused him to open his eyes – eyes he hadn't realized he'd even closed in the first place.

Jim's cheeks were completely flushed; Spock could feel the thrum of his arousal increase through the bond. The digits inside him spread again, causing Spock in turn to contract his muscles reflexively, and Jim bit his lip, another heated noise emitting from his throat. In his current state, it took Spock a moment before it sunk in. _Of course._ The natural sensitivity of Vulcan hands must have made the task of Spock's preparation all the more stimulating for Jim. Spock could only wonder what it felt like.

A third finger slipped in, twisting and sliding and stretching him even further. All three suddenly crooked and touched something that sucked a breath right out of the half-Vulcan. His forgotten erection pulsed anew at the pleasure that shot up his spine. Jim seemed to perk further, his pupils heavily dilated, and he crooked his fingers again against Spock's prostate. Spock bucked and abruptly he was coming, short bursts of semen spurting over the contracting muscles of his stomach. He made no noise, totally overwhelmed by the sudden loss of control. Jim loomed over his trembling body, fingers still encased within Spock, watching the display his mate provides with hungry eyes. The now-Vulcan lowered his head and began licking the streams of white off of Spock's belly, grazing quivering skin with teeth as he did so. Spock continued to shake, gradually coming down from his unexpected high.

Never before had he had so little control over his body. If he had been approached merely a day before and told that he would be so easily reduced to such a level of capitulation, Spock was under the belief he would have marginally considered the idea of scoffing. But now – and in so little time at that – the idea seemed only natural. Suddenly Spock blinked and wondered: was that truly what had been causing him inconvenience the entire time? The implication of complete lack of restraint, not only in his bondmate, but within himself? The thought was usually daunting to him, but right now…

Jim kissed him; Spock could taste what he believed was himself on the other's tongue, strange and slightly bitter. A hand trailed down Spock's side, resting over the area where his heart resided. Wild blue eyes gazed beseechingly at him.

Spock had no reason to fear emotional surrender, not when he had Jim here to guide him.

He arched his back in complete submission, pulling his knees up and spreading his legs open further. Jim responded eagerly, pulling his fingers out of Spock and rising up higher on his knees as he coated his penis with a generous amount of lubrication. It was the first opportunity Spock had to truly see Jim in this fashion, and he found he was not displeased. Jim was… quite well-endowed, thick and flushed a deep green and distinctly larger than the combined three fingers that had taken residence within Spock mere seconds earlier. He found himself trembling in anticipation, tongue unconsciously darting out to wet his lips.

Jim reached down and took hold of Spock, cradling his thighs in his hands and lifting his hips up towards himself. Spock watched in fascination as his mate's organ disappeared from his view between his legs; the tip of it pressed lightly against his stretched entrance for a brief moment before Jim pushed forward and he was sliding in. It was as though Spock had lost the ability to breathe – all he could focus on was the unstopping pressure of Jim easing into his body. His hands searched for some kind of purchase, finally settling for a frantic grip on his own hair. He was not in pain, but it was not entirely comfortable, the feel of Jim's engorged member gradually filling and stretching him from the inside.

When he was in deep enough Jim stopped pushing, throwing his head back and moaning with apparent relief. He released Spock's thighs, placing his hands on the bed along either side of his mate's hips for support. Slowly Jim began to shift, pulling back out slightly before sinking back into Spock's tight heat. His breathing was soft but intense as he indulged himself in Spock's willing body. Jim's unhurried movements were beginning to torment the half-Vulcan – they were too slow to truly stimulate him, and seeing Jim in front of him so lost in pleasure only seemed to tease him further. One of Jim's gentle pushes went deeper than before and Spock could not hold back his soft, surprised gasp.

Jim's next slow drive pushed in much further, sliding until he was completely sheathed in Spock's body. The half-Vulcan squirmed slightly around Jim's length, his flexing muscles only adding to his mate's pleasure. Spock's hands were taken up and guided to rest on the pillow above his head; they flexed nervously as Jim lowered himself down to rest chest-to-chest with Spock, flattening their bodies together and spreading Spock's legs wider apart in the process. He continued to hold Spock's hands as he supported his weight on his elbows, tangling their fingers together. Jim began to thrust, slow and very gently. Spock breathed with Jim's pace, wrapped in the now delicately streaming flow of his bondmate's emotions.

"Jim…" he found himself whispering. Their faces were so close, and with each second that he stared into the bright eyes Spock realized just how safe he felt – here, with Jim, like this.

He shifted to wrap his legs around Jim's waist and suddenly pleasure was rocketing through him. Spock gasped as the tip of Jim's penis pushed enticingly against his prostate, the slit hugging itself snugly around the bump of flesh. Brown eyes widened to an impossible diameter and suddenly his body was a flurry of movement, back arching and hips writhing underneath Jim, chest heaving breaths and fingers jerking and clenching against those of his bondmate. Jim didn't yield so much as a millimeter, remaining still both inside and against Spock from where his last thrust had left him. Fixing his mate with a hungry stare, Jim twisted his hips in leisurely circles, effectively rubbing the tip of his cock directly into Spock's prostate.

Spock bit down on his bottom lip, successfully diminishing his forthcoming cry to a whimper. Jim's ministrations continued on for long minutes until Spock was actively squirming beneath him, head thrashing from side to side at the overstimulation. When a warm mouth sealed itself over his neck and his prostate received a particularly hard nudge, Spock could not stop himself and released a low, shuddering moan.

The noise spurred something in Jim – with a growl that rumbled against Spock's skin, he jerked his hips back, all but ripping the contact away from his mate's pleasure spot. Not so much as a second later Jim thrust smoothly back in, then again and again still until he was practically pistoning into Spock with grace akin to one of the _Enterprise_'s powerful engines. Spock's body rocked against the bed with each thrust, the soft noises escaping from him soon blocked by a mouth over his. The pads of Jim's fingertips brushed against his own and suddenly flashes of Jim's thought were shooting across their connection into the forefront of Spock's mind.

–_in, inside spock, my spock, _love_ my spock, bondmate, spock spock spock, _yes_, so good, so beautiful–_

The prevailing affection rooted beneath Jim's thoughts flooded warmly through Spock.

_Mine,_ his mind whispered almost tentatively. _My Jim._

Jim's mouth released his and their noses touched as he hovered. "_Yours_, Spock. Always yours."

His thrusts increased even more in speed and intensity, jolting Spock with pleasure as the sound of skin smacking echoed around them. Spock realized that he was already hard again, his length trapped in wonderful friction between his and Jim's bellies. As Jim's penis brushed his prostate repeatedly Spock became more vocal, his breath leaving him in small, gasping "ahs" in time with each inward push. He knew he was close to ejaculation – Jim must have known, too.

His mate suddenly released his hands; one gripped the sheets, pushing him up, while the other groped at the side of Spock's face.

"Spock," he murmured weakly, obviously close to his own release. "I… I n-need…" His fingers fumbled near Spock's temples. It was quickly clear what he was trying to do.

His hands now free, Spock reached up and pulled Jim's hand away. It wasn't that he was afraid of what his mate wanted. It was merely that he knew that Jim did not know _how_ – had never done it before.

Keeping Jim's hand contained in his, Spock reached up with his other, carefully molding his fingertips against the meld points on Jim's face.

"My mind to your mind," came the hushed chant; Jim's eyes slid shut. "My thoughts to your thoughts…"

Receiving Jim's mind in his current state was something akin to embracing a churning maelstrom. Blurs of color and thought and feeling swirled around Spock as he was pulled deeper into his bondmate's state of being. He'd never melded with Jim to this extent – it was… _amazing_. Spock could feel everything occurring in Jim: the multiple levels of pleasure ranging from the simple delight of being near Spock to the overwhelming fire of his sexual drive, and the pulse of the drive itself, the pleasurable burning that spurred Jim onward. But Spock also felt something else – a mental entity directly behind the passionate forefront. He reached for it, drawing it out to him and feeling something in his abdomen twinge at what he sees.

Jim was fully aware of his actions despite his inability to directly control them. His body and senses were overflowing with pleasure, but his heart and mind were consumed with regret – regret and guilt that he had frightened and forced himself upon his bondmate. He loved feeling Spock like this, but at the same time he was concerned of the circumstances surrounding them – the fear of the unknown thing happening to him still resounded in his mind, helplessly spouting jarring bursts of _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ into Spock's direction.

Spock hurried to assure Jim of the contrary, reaching out and enveloping the troubled thoughts in ones of his own contentment and bliss. He projected that _all is well_, that there was no need to fret so. Jim very nearly struggled against him, but Spock held fast, twining their open minds together like soft cloth wrapped in a gently tightening knot. They bled into each other, becoming more as one entity than in any meld previously performed together. Jim's insecurity dwindled, overcome by the strength of Spock's comfort and the continued stimulation of his body.

The thrusts became faster, deeper and even more passionate. Their minds merged even further, blending smoothly like the colors of a sunrise. Spock could tell that Jim was very near orgasm, perhaps no longer than a minute away. He realized just how silent Jim had been vocally throughout their coupling, but knew from what he saw in the man's mind just how much the act is affecting him.

"Spock…"

The meld deepened, their minds instinctively locking together in their timeless familiarity. Spock released Jim's hand, allowing him to lift it to his own temple and connect to the meld points. Their combined mental flow increased to a fever pitch; Jim and Spock both gasped in astonishment, the physical stimulus between them intensifying as well. Jim's rhythm faltered slightly – he was very close now.

"Spock," he whimpered, and he sounded so vulnerable. "Spock…!"

The half-Vulcan wished he could answer with verbal words, but it was as though his voice was gone; he could only breathe in tiny gasps with each jostle of Jim's thrusts. Spock poured the rest of his trust and affection through the very personal link of the meld, not breaking eye contact for a moment, and in due time Jim was crying out, a long, fervent sob. His physical release exploded into Spock, spilling warmth along his inner walls in a long, streaming burst. Spock followed seconds later, head thrown back in a wordless cry as his semen coated each of their bellies.

Something warm burst in Spock's mind with a blinding hot flash, a mental orgasm. Even before it had begun to fade, he knew what it meant without even thinking about it – he and Jim had fully consummated their bond.

He found he could not contain the small, dazed smile that had crept onto his flushed face.

Jim continued thrusting, slowly very gradually as they both returned from their indescribable high until he stopped completely. They stayed there together for a length of time, their heaving gasps diminishing to more quiet breaths. Spock finally removed his fingers from Jim's face, groping for one of his bondmate's hands, clasping it tightly once he finds it. Jim squeezed back with equal vigor, and he dropped his head and buried it in Spock's shoulder.

Neither spoke for long minutes. They only breathed.

Finally, Jim spoke.

"Spock," he said in a quiet, softly choked voice. "Are… are you–"

"I am well, Jim," Spock quickly answered as Jim fades, tightening his grip on his mate's hand.

Jim was shaking his head against Spock's shoulder. "No, Spock, you… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No apologies are necessary."

"But I– _no!_" Jim pushed himself up, staring down at Spock with clouded, lost eyes. "I forced… I-I took…"

"You did no such thing." Spock released Jim's hand and reached up both of his to gently clasp the worried face. "Calm yourself. Feel me, Jim, I am here." Through their newly strengthened bond he projected calm, soothing thoughts, willing Jim to understand. He watched Jim's features slowly relax, no longer expressing a sense of sorrow but now one of hesitant awe.

"Spock…" he whispered, touching a hand gently to the side of the half-Vulcan's head. "We're…"

"Yes," Spock replied, gently impelling his fondness and acceptance for the new status they have acquired. "Yes, we are. And now that we are here I will not have it any other way." Jim's gaze softened even more and he bent his head down for a kiss, one that was sweet and gentle and that spoke for everything that Spock meant to him.

After a minute of soft kissing Spock pushed Jim away, now looking quite guilty himself.

"Jim, if there is anyone who must apologize, it is I. I have caused you much pain."

Jim frowned, picking up Spock's fingers with his own in comfort. "I thought that was my line," he said quietly.

Fond exasperation melted through Spock, and he tugged on Jim's hand. "You did not hurt me," he reassured with quiet conviction, "…but I have hurt you, Jim. I abandoned you in your time of need, and you have suffered for it. I would ask forgiveness… but I do not believe I am deserving of it. I have failed you as a bondmate."

Now Jim rolled his eyes. His head tilted, looking down at Spock as though he'd never seen him before; he shook his head gently. "Look at us, reveling in our own pity parties," he murmured. Jim leaned back over Spock, giving his hand another squeeze. "You're here, Spock. _Now_. I'd say that counts for something, don't you?"

And with those simple words Spock felt some of his shame lift from him. He had not fully forgiven himself for his previous actions, but if Jim would still have him…

Spock moved to sit up, Jim moving to give him some room, and with a soft, pleasurable jolt he realized that Jim was still inside of him. Jim flushed with slight embarrassment, carefully pulling out; he was already half hardened again, revealing he was still experiencing the mating drive. He fixed Spock with a curious stare.

"By the way, would you care to explain just what that was all about?" Jim asked as casually as he could muster given the circumstances, and Spock was inwardly pleased to see the humorous quirk of his bondmate returning. He must not have looked too willing to explain, however, because Jim added, "Not now, if you don't want to. …But I _am_ curious as to why I just chased you around the _Enterprise_ without a second thought to anything, and all for the sole purpose of making love to you."

It was illogical, but the fact that Jim referred to his copulation with him as "making love" and not just "having sex" gave Spock the distinct impression that his heart was fluttering faster than usual.

Spock moved to rise from the bed with the intent to fetch something to clean themselves, pushing down the urge to wince at the dull throb in his rear. His feet had barely touched the floor when he was suddenly pulled back and pinned against the bed by awesome strength.

Jim's eyes were wide with surprise as he looked down at him, as if he himself had not expected his own reaction. "Sorry, Spock. I just– I don't… really think I want you up right now," stutters Jim with a befuddled voice. He paused. "Or ever, I think. Maybe."

Spock inwardly knew what Jim's behavior meant, and he found he was… increasingly quite comfortable with it.

He raised an eyebrow in light amusement. "You may accompany me."

Jim quickly shook his head, peppering frantic kisses along Spock's face. "No, I think I want you right here. Just here." He let go of Spock's arms, trailing his hands down the half-Vulcan's body. His expression slowly shifted to one of a more confident air, eyes beginning to glint with mischief.

"Besides," Jim said, now able to see his mate's thoughts clearly through their bond, "I can clean you just fine myself."

Jim ran a tongue over his lips, and his head quickly disappeared between Spock's legs.

* * *

The Pon Farr continued on for seven days. Spock theorized that the drive's length was a direct result of the previous events – namely, Spock's prolonged lack of action. Jim's unexpected Time progressed in a way not unlike the visual image of a bell curve: his temperament gradually shifted over the following days, and their gentle lovemaking soon became the rougher, more primal act of mating. Approximately halfway through the fourth day Jim started to calm, and their sexual activity progressively gentled until it became slow and sweet once more. When Spock needed use of the lavatory, Jim allowed him to get up, but only if he could maintain visual contact at all times; when Spock was hungry, Jim fed him, making use of whatever foodstuffs he could get from his personal replicator; and when they both tired, they slept, Jim curled around Spock like a contented lion after a feast.

It was precisely at that halfway point on the fourth day that Spock began to contemplate the very real possibility of his own Time. He did not truly know if it would ever occur, but at this time Spock found that he would not mind terribly if one day it did, not when he could see for himself just how it was affecting both Jim and himself.

Even at his roughest, Spock could feel the underlying pulse of deep affection coursing through Jim's body. His being was alight with fire, with passion, overtaking them both as he entered Spock again. The sheer level of Jim's affections and emotions was irresistibly engulfing – violent, even – and it's then that Spock realized yet again just how huge of a misunderstanding had been made.

After all, it was only natural that Vulcans viewed all emotional outbursts as generally violent in nature… even if all it really was in fact was an inordinately huge manifestation of love. Spock had not been lied to in his younger years; he had merely been… misinformed.

At the peak of his ferocity, Jim was slamming repeatedly into Spock from behind, nearly jarring Spock off balance with each thrust. The half-Vulcan did what he could to stay upright, his wrists currently tangled in strips of the bed sheets as a result of Jim's present possessive streak. The friction was delicious, both rough and smooth at the same time and unlike anything Spock had experienced before. His unrestrained whimpers and moans were muffled by the two fingers Jim had thrusting in his mouth, sliding repeatedly over his pliant tongue. Jim's remaining hand fisted itself in Spock's hair at the base of his neck, fingers gripping the black strands not hard enough to cause pain, but with enough hold to keep Spock steady as he plowed into him.

Spock's penis swung helplessly between his legs, his body receiving direct stimulation only from the occasional hard strikes to his prostate. Jim was close to the edge, his rhythm becoming more erratic. Spock suddenly moaned around Jim's fingers, a long, keening sound, and clenched himself hard around his mate.

A choked noise was his only warning before Jim came fast and hard inside him.

The hand in his hair suddenly released, and soon Spock's cock was taken into warm heat. Eyes growing wide, he bucked with abandon into the tight embrace.

Heated breath puffed on his neck just before teeth bit down gently onto it. A tongue glided over the tip of his ear.

Spock was close, so very close, and he wasn't fully overtaken until Jim leaned over him and spoke to him in a tired, husky voice.

"_I love you._"

White fire ignited in his eyes, and he clamped his mouth down over his mate's fingers and came.

* * *

At some point on the sixth day, Jim apparently came to a realization of his own.

"Do you think she knew?"

It took Spock a moment to register the words, but he returned rather quickly to himself once he realized that Jim was no longer bouncing him on his cock.

"I… I beg your…" It was hard to talk when his prostate was being pushed upon in just the right place. "…What?"

"The empress," Jim said from his reclined position on the bed. His tone was contemplative, but his hands rested firm in their hold on Spock's trembling hips. "When she had me drink… do you think this is what she meant for to happen?"

Spock wriggled in vain where he sat on Jim's lap, arms and hands bound behind him by his blue science tunic. "I do… not–"

"It's just…" Jim continued, evidently oblivious to his mate's plight, "if Pon Farr is kept under such tight Vulcan secrecy, how exactly did she–"

"_Jim_," Spock spat out, trying to sound as authoritative as possible despite his current position. "I am pleased to see that you are regaining yourself, but if this conversation could be postponed to another point in time…"

Blue eyes blinked twice before slanted brows furrowed and a sheepish grin appeared on his mate's face. "Oh. Sorry, Spock."

"That is quite alr–"

His sentence died abruptly as Jim bucked his hips up.

* * *

When Spock woke on the morning of the eighth day, he was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. He felt Jim awake beside him, caressing a hand gently over his shoulder. Spock buried his face deeper into where it resided against his mate's chest, unwilling to completely rouse himself.

At the swell of calm surrounding them, Spock could tell that the mating drive had dissipated. It was an admittedly different sensation considering the rather chaotic atmosphere that had surrounded him for the past week, but he took in a breath and reveled in it, content to simply lie and rest with Jim; it was not unlike their previous conduct before Jim's rather sudden transformation into a Vulcan.

Spock slipped a hand down Jim's side with the intention of feeling his heartbeat – something he admitted to have started taking pleasure in during what brief periods of rest he and Jim partook in the past number of days. When he pressed his hand into the spot below Jim's ribcage, however, it was met with silence.

Only then did he realize that Jim's heartbeat had been resonating in his ear the entire time.

Spock shot up into a sitting position, blatantly ignoring the sharp and sore pain that rocketed up the base of his spine. All he could focus on is Jim, whose bright eyes were gazing up at him with a mixture of adoration and hesitation.

"Morning, Spock," Jim offered, hand still resting carefully on one of Spock's shoulders.

"Jim…" Spock's eyes traveled over the now rounded ears and took in the softly pink-tinged skin of his bondmate. He reached out to lightly trace one of the dark, curving eyebrows. "You're… You are not…"

"Nope, all human now," Jim said, mouth curling into a small grin. "Disappointed?"

Deep in his mind Spock knew that Jim was only joking, but he could not stop himself from attacking that single word regardless. "Never," was his swift response. "As I have said before, Jim, you are pleasing in any form. However, I do believe it is those qualities that make you distinctly human that drew me so to you in the beginning, and that continue to entice me now. If I had to choose a more favored form for you… I would choose this one always, as it is genuinely, truly you."

Jim was silent, no doubt absorbing the unexpected words. His grin softened into a genuine smile and he reached up to Spock, who leaned into him without vacillation. Jim did not say anything in return, but then he didn't need to – Spock could feel the heartfelt sentiment already blooming through the bond. Spock's hand slid over to rest above Jim's heart, and he could feel glistening sweat on the human skin.

"Perhaps you should decrease your room's temperature," he suggested softly.

"Perhaps I should," Jim replied, his tone insinuating that he wasn't actually going to do so. His eyes were already closed and his cheek rested against his bondmate's head. Spock felt affection bubble up inside him and lowered the temperature himself with a vocal command. Soon the two were resting comfortably next to each other, Spock crooked against Jim's warm body and Jim fully calm and at ease for the first real time in days. Slow, blissful minutes passed, and Spock's keen mind heard the clear thought emanating from Jim's side of the bond, expressing an opinion Spock had been contemplating moments before.

_Damn, I missed this._

Smiling inwardly to himself, Spock replied. _As did I._

Jim jerked in surprise next to him. "I can hear you!" he exclaimed.

Spock tilted his head in order to look at him, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "In case you have forgotten, we _are_ fully bonded now."

The anticipated "oh" goes unspoken as Jim leaned back against his pillow, a sense of obvious joy coursing through him. Spock did not say anything further, instead lifting himself up and pressing a row of kisses along Jim's jaw. It only took seconds before Jim was reciprocating, pulling Spock on top of him and kissing him earnestly. Jim's thoughts were a jumble of happiness and ecstasy, and beneath it all Spock could hear a quiet sentiment involving the empress of Dramiir – something involving a note of thanks and a large basket of sorts? – that he couldn't help but agree with.

"So, how'd I do?" Jim asked after a few minutes of gentle foreplay. "Was I a passable Vulcan?"

Spock pulled away, looking as if he was pondering over a particularly challenging equation. His eyebrow rose again in question.

"…Are you attempting to deliver a facetious, laughter-evoking remark known as a 'joke'?"

Jim laughed, the sound ringing pleasantly in Spock's ears. "A simple 'no' would have been sufficient, Spock, thank you." He settled back into the bed, absently running his fingers through Spock's mussed hair. "It's okay, though, I don't think I'm cut out for the Vulcan lifestyle anyway. All that 'emotional control' business? Totally not my style."

"I agree completely."

Spock reflexively jerked when Jim prodded him in the ribs, squirming even more as his mate attempted to tickle him. Jim rolled to the side, taking Spock with him, and they lay facing each other. The human's eyes narrowed slightly as if in contemplation before he reached out and cupped Spock's face in his hand.

"Was the sex good at any rate?" he asked, gently stroking at Spock's skin with a thumb.

Spock knew that Jim could read his open thoughts freely at this point, and thus knew his true feelings on the topic. He could easily say "yes" to confirm Jim's findings; however, he enjoyed hearing the human's laughter, so instead Spock said, "You did have a tendency for aggression, particularly during any of the times I expressed a desire for free movement." Jim chuckled, more than a little embarrassed. "However, your general possessiveness was rather… endearing."

Jim snorted lightly. "If I remember correctly, you weren't half bad yourself."

"Really, Jim, my modesty." He spoke evenly, but Spock knew that he himself was flushing based on the sly smile Jim gave him.

"Seriously, though, you're gonna have all the chances in the world now to get back at me."

"…I do not believe I follow."

"Well, you're stronger than me again," Jim elaborated, propping himself up on an elbow. "Wouldn't you want to put that big, bad Vulcan strength to some use?"

Spock's eyes widened marginally. "You wish me to physically overpower you?"

"Well, I…" Jim suddenly looked unsure of himself. "I mean, if you wanted. You don't have to. I just thought we could start trying new things; you know, experiment. But I understand if it's too early…"

Jim's mind retreated in on itself, and Spock was quick to wrap it in reassurance. He contemplated his mate's suggestion. It was true: now that they were fully bonded and arguably much more comfortable together on a physical level, they had time and room to "experiment," as Jim had put it. Spock found he was quite comfortable with the idea of more intercourse in the near future, but as for dominating Jim… he didn't know just how he considered the idea. If it pleased Jim, however…

"I suppose I would not be adverse to… experimenting with new methods of copulation…" Spock said slowly. The unspoken "however" hung between them.

"What?" Jim prompted, sensing Spock's apprehension. Slowly, he seemed to figure it out himself, and a careful, knowing smile crept onto his face. "You like being on the bottom?"

Spock hid his face against Jim's neck, his voice rather small. "The experience is… quite pleasurable."

"Then we'll stick to it," Jim said with finality, tucking an arm around Spock's back. "I'm happy either way."

A comfortable silence settled over them. Spock shifted down in order to lay his head against Jim's chest, seeking out the now slow, comforting beat of his heart. Jim secured his hold on the half-Vulcan, letting a hand move up to trace along a pointed ear. They remained like that for a long while, simply laying together and dozing and losing track of time.

After a lengthy, comfortable period, Jim took in a breath and sighed deeply.

"Well…" he said with an air of reluctance, "I suppose we should let everyone know we're not dead." He removed an arm from Spock, moving to lie more on his back. "…Shit, we're gonna have a lot of explaining to do."

"I believe Doctor McCoy is in possession of most of the facts involving this instance," Spock said, stretching minutely. "Also, I am certain he can view and monitor our life signs from sickbay; he can inform the crew that we are not deceased."

Jim didn't appear too reassured. "Everyone's gonna know now, huh? What really happened?"

"Not likely, as the only individual I provided with a full explanation was Doctor McCoy. I do not believe he will break what he most likely considers impromptu doctor-patient confidentiality. If any members of the crew wish to know the events that have transpired, they will have to approach you or myself."

"…I won't tell anyone, Spock. I know how personal this is for you." Jim's voice was soft and unusually delicate.

"I…" Spock's gaze flickered to Jim's, softening considerably. "Thank you, Jim."

The human smiled, leaning forward for a kiss. "Come on, let's get cleaned up." He stood tiredly, reaching hands out to Spock as the half-Vulcan moved to rise. Spock winced as he sat up completely, unable to stop the choked gasp at the sharp throb in his back and thighs.

Jim was at his side immediately. "Spock?"

"I… do not believe I wish to move," Spock admitted slowly, feeling a flush overcoming his cheeks. "Not at an accelerated pace, in this instance."

Jim breathed a laugh, albeit while looking a bit guilty. "It's okay, Spock. I'll help you." He vigilantly helped his bondmate move until he was carefully standing beside him. "We can probably afford to take another day or so off. Bones is probably gonna give us both earfuls regardless; I can feel it."

"Indeed."

They made their way slowly to the bathroom, Jim aiding Spock along the way. As the two neared the doorway Jim slowed to a stop, holding Spock's arm in a gentle grip.

"Spock," he said, voice resonating contemplation. "This Pon Farr… are you going to go through the same thing someday?"

Spock stilled, feeling the genuine curiosity drifting over from Jim's mind. He could not discern his mate's exact thoughts on the question, however; but nevertheless, he refused to lie to him.

"I do not know, Jim," he answered honestly.

"If you did…" the human said neutrally, then stops. He seemed to think over his words and started again. "If you _do_, do you think it will be like this?"

Spock then understood exactly what Jim was asking. He looked away, letting his mind drift over everything he had learned within the past week. This openness that now hovered between them – this new level of oneness he and Jim now shared – would only serve to strengthen over time. It was a beautiful thought, one that Spock would not allow to dissipate under any circumstances.

The idea that they may possibly be able to indulge in this strengthened connection again one day was a welcome one.

"Yes, Jim," Spock answered without hesitancy. "I do believe so, without doubt."

Jim smiled, stepping closer. "Well then," he said, tracing a hand over his lover's chest, voice imbued with gentle optimism, "maybe we'll get lucky."

"…I very much hope so," Spock agreed in a sincere whisper, and leaned in for kiss.


End file.
